Tags
life, longing, love, memory, remains of another day, seasons, time, truth, what we keep
how far
from Spring to wander
I can scarce
recall perfumes –
wafts of honeysuckle
sacred vine
days beneath the sun
echoes of another
spilled into
a morning
just as this
boughs already emptied
tho memory persists
wherever now our secrets
fill the wind
. . .
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
Blackberries shed there leaves with memories of flowered springs …
….and every spring becomes the first
*their 😉
❤