Blight I
by Patricia | 1.04.10Pallor gold on the mountains;
Spring gold in the west;
Rosy gold on her away-turned face:
She is honey-tressed.
Amber sets the shadows;
The heifer’s withers gild;
Finches sparkle under leaves;
And the freshet’s filled.
Dionysus gifted me.
Gold fills her eyes like shells fill the sea.
Small flower in a garden, secret from me;
Primrose drifting on a saffron sea.
When yellow apples gorge the trees
And wheat locks drop in the light,
Search her umber smile, she smiles
The golden blight.
January 4th, 2010 at 9:59 am
Old poem.
Turning things into gold with a touch–environmentally unsound and terribly, terribly isolating. Heavy metals.
Watch out for those nickel-cadmium batteries or the newer nickel-metal hydride batteries in those hybrid vehicles, too.
January 5th, 2010 at 10:00 pm
I love this one!! wow… you are good, Patricia.
January 6th, 2010 at 4:07 pm
Thanks, Karen.