I weave daisies
Into garlands and wreaths-
Cottagecore fantasies-
Where toil appears easy,
And tempests breezy,
Where sour fruits are glazed in honey.
My fingers claw
At the garlands they birth
Till petals fall
And blend seamlessly into the dirt.

They blend seamlessly into the dirt,
Like brown tatters on the ground.
The sun's sinking into the earth,
As winter's coming around,
The weather's not the good kind.
This winter is not kind.

My garlands, they resign
From the world of florid illusions.
My garlands, they say their goodbyes,
Until next time, perhaps the next season. 



◄ Eagle Eye

A Vagabond's Road ►


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Shifa Maqba

Thu 29th Oct 2020 19:38

Really glad that the subtle notes of optimism weren't left unnoticed. Thank you for your delightful comment and the rose, Abdul!

Thank you Stephen G., Stephen A. and Robert for stopping by & hitting the like button. Much appreciated!

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Abdul Ahmad

Sat 17th Oct 2020 16:48

A sad reflection of the ravages of impending winter. There is plenty of optimisim here too. I love the expression "soured fruits glazed in honey".

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