The Ghost Of Summer

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The Ghost Of Summer

 

A leaded cloak that settled on the bay,

forewarned us of the chaos yet to rise

from deep within the boiling soup of grey.

 

The thunderheads that blocked our sunny day

and scattered tears of winter from their eyes –

made all the basting bathers go away.

 

The crystal spume of effervescent spray

that settled on us, causing such surprise,

turned all our sandcastles to muddy clay.

 

The deck chairs flapped and promised they would stay,

as buckets rattled out their sad goodbyes –

their gaudy faces etched with deep dismay.

 

The donkeys bowed their heads, began to bray,

their sadness seemed to resonate in sighs

that echoed after they had trooped away.

 

Beneath umbrellas, wrapped in disarray,

we made a vow amidst the seagull cries

to ‘bloody well enjoy this holiday’

and prayed a spectral sun to haunt the skies.

british summerrainholidaysmaking the best of itcloudsdonkeysdeck chairs

◄ warRANT

Pure O ►

Comments

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David Blake

Thu 25th Apr 2013 23:15

This is brilliant Ian. The words bounce along in a curiously pleasant meter. And always nice to have a little revelation about the whole poem right at the end too! Cheers, David.

Rose Casserley

Tue 23rd Apr 2013 12:55

very enjoyable Mr.W.
that 'spectral sun'
is behaving itself very nicely today!
-might dust the bikini off!x

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