Persian silk trees in the rain


In the rain the silk trees drip
Soft and cool about the seated men
Murmuring oriental stories
They had not thought to hear again.
Rain falls to the cadence of their memories
On pale pink flowers, balls of bird-like plumes
That cluster glittering with their fragile hues
Persian paintings caught among their blooms
One man lifts his face to the lacy canopy
And catches raindrops in his outstretched hand
Reflecting hanging gardens of another time
And the long dusty road from Samarkand.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

8 thoughts on “Persian silk trees in the rain”

    1. I’ve only just discovered the name of these trees. They’re in the bit of park that runs along the riverbank and there’s always a bunch of men from eastern Europe/Turkey sitting under them. Next to the silk trees they’ve planted mulberry trees. Somebody in the parks department has a poetic sense of rightness ๐Ÿ™‚

      1. Thank you! Sometimes a scene strikes the imagination and sets off a train of thought, string of words. I’m glad you like this one. The earlier poem, ‘Mulberries’ I wrote after seeing a boy from an exotic country picking and eating the mulberries from the park trees.

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