The flags are out,
their bloody proclamation -
the battleground of spring
when weeds invade.
Poppies haunt,
with the shadow ghosts
in memoriam
of the fallen,
while the sun navigates
its celestial arc
and silhouettes pirouette,
in the ballet of hours,
beneath shady parasols.
The insignia of tears,
once again, emblazoned
on the garden.
No comments:
Post a Comment