Tuesday 3 December 2013

Poem


End of August and the bonfire smoke
climbs up the apple tree,
obscures the leaves and fruit
and double-masks the cloud-veiled, rounded moon.

Into the silence a dull apple thud,
and screech owl, calling, far away.
Twigs crackle
while the witch leans on her stick and smiles into the dusk.
The moon, amazed,
stares at the sudden bonfire blaze
as cloud and smoke are gone.

6 comments:

  1. Oh I can just SMELL it. Wonderful.

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    1. Yes, there's the lovely smell along with all the other pleasures of a good bonfire!

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  2. a true autumn poem - clever you

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    1. Thank you, Elaine. I wrote it a few years ago but it seemed to fit the photo.

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  3. Beautiful words! They apply also to winter and I enjoy reading it before Christmas! CHrista

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    1. Christa, I'm glad you enjoyed your visit to London, the photos are fabulous (and I'm very envious of your serenely beautiful home!)

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