Click here to hear the poet read his words:
scents
she is different
in some undefinable way
when she shakes her head
in joyful laughter
there comes
from her hair
the scent of the breeze
in soft springtime showers
with perhaps a hint of daisies
when she turns her smile
just on you
you smell the warmth
of summer sun
on your skin
golden and life affirming
and flora perform Nature’s dance
when her dark eyes sparkle
with the pleasure of being
she shares the tang
of glorious autumn
the orange-russet chestnut
deep shades of fuchsia
and Scotland’s jagged purple thistle
but when she frowns
the air chills fast
snow tumbles odourless
sleet and hail are driven
on wintry wind
and your heart freezes
as ice forms on barren branches
That was heavenly.
Thanks, Nancy, you ol’ romantic!
It’s us ol’ ones who know how to do it right 😉
Beautiful poem Springer, one can be in the moment reading this 🥰🙏
Thanks, Frewie, lovely to see you here again.
Wow! Just wow!
Thank you, Cassa, I’m happy it worked for you.
I do like ‘Wow! Just wow! ‘!
😁
It’s been a while, but the poet is back…
…with such evocative descriptions of the scents of the seasons and the joyous emotions inspired by this woman.
All the more stark, then, the contrast with the brutal, scentless winter of her frown.
Keats and Byron, eat your hearts out!
Amen to that!
Thanks, Liz!
Wee bit OTT with your praise, Jenne, but appreciated nonetheless!
Glad you enjoyed.