Tuesday, September 23, 2008

We walk, wondering
at the blossoming creation surrounding us.
Each tree going to seed,
each flower in its created vigor.

As we crest the hill
together
it becomes ice
under our feet

I reach out instinctively
and realize with the panicked clarity of frozen time
that flower has gone to seed.

early morning
giving way to stifling day
the fog lifts

early morning

mirage

2 comments:

TACParent said...

This one ends so awesome. I can hear/feel the pauses.

Dymphna (4HisChurch) said...

Thanks! I love to include a certain rhythm and pace in my poetry.

Poems © Gemma W. Wilson