Tuesday, June 2, 2009 @10:05 PM
Like winged pastels floating round freely,
the still painted gardens of yesterday,
memories of you persist to haunt me,
landing gently on my contemplations.
The deep emerald green of Father time,
changes to amber yellow and then brown,
marking the change of seasons by colour,
but the butterflies never grow faded.
With each year the garden wilts except you,
you persist with your glorious flight down here,
lingering like a ghost of cold lost love,
not pale but vibrant like the summer rain.
My thoughts form this static realm of false green,
where only the butterflies freely flew,
while the sky remains chained by old sepia,
locked in winter with summer butterflies.
Sky (020609)