an ornate setting
of pale wood and wrought iron
under over latticework woven, melded, beaten
into submission by a heavy hand
exposed to elements and its patina softens
to green.
roughly hewn roses nestled among
fine detail, the work of a tradesman
and an artisan.
there are gaps where the sunlight
reaches through and lovingly caresses
my notebook
though the chill wind cuts an unforgiving
path through the sycamore
overhead and I shiver
beneath my borrowed serge.
my mind witters during this
contemplative seclusion, prayers not yet
fully formed but trivial thoughts -
butterflies which dance from one
merry bud to another.
the abbey garden
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I can imagine you sitting at your desk writing this. Nicely done.
I can, too, imagine you writing this, sitting at your desk and gazing through the window from time to time. Viewing in your mind’s eye that of which you write. Lovely.
Vi
This is a lovely “snapshot” of detail. It freezes a moment in time. I love poems like this.
I like the idea of the sunlight caressing the notebook (:
This is really lovely Rosy. I can see you at work. Do make sure to put a copy in the Abbey. I will do a check and make sure you are a member of that blog.
” Of Pale Wood and Wrought Iron “-
Made me think of the human body and spirit…which is perfect considering the place you were writing about.
a.m.
Thank you everyone!
A.M. I love the comparison that you’ve drawn!