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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.

Polly Oliver

Polly Oliver

JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
A mother of two boys, scribbling from the Western coasts of the UK, mainly poetry, but whatever comes out really. Former journalist and PR professional, the first whispers of middle age and declining eyesight made having a real go at 'real writing' a little more urgent. A Cornish native, I made my home in South West Wales so the sound of the sea sighs through my work every now and then. Lover of nature, yoga, boutique coffee shops and occasional (and very dreadful) surfer.
Polly Oliver

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