A sea of sunshine fallen from the sky,
Golden trumpets propped from the depths,
- Defying deathís grey eye.
Skeletal trees in seasonís time,
The backdrop and horizon line.
Was it here or someplace else
Where warmth of heart
Shunned deathly stealth?
A childís dream for Motherís day,
A glow of love in full array.
Draw close to hear the pollenís power,
This is the place; that was the hour.
Now shall I pick a token piece,
To hold to heart and then release,
Or grasp a memory ageing old,
The final scene of floral gold.
©Philip Holden



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