Tryst
written by: Polly Oliver
I want to bring you
the pink wisp hanging alone in the still blue
of this October afternoon;
the brown rustle of dry leaves
excited by my winged feet
and the glow of golden green
in trees touched by the soft eyes of evening.
I want to give you
the house with the whispered
Welsh name on the slumbering lane
that’s woken by my happy steps;
the late flower bursting red through concrete,
and the easy sigh of the darkening sea
kissing the shore of our dreams.
JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
Writing in the spaces between the hustle and noise. Poems published here and there, but nothing beats a poem brought to life in a live reading. Ex broadcast journalist (are we ever truly ex?), communications pro, mum, coast dweller.
Latest posts by Polly Oliver (see all)
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