For Colleen’s weekly prompt, a syllable-counting poem of my invention. This is a sequence of three Florescence poems, three lines of six, six and nine syllables respectively, with a rhyme on the sixth, twelfth and eighteenth syllables.
Beneath the bird’s egg blue
of sky by rain washed new
and clothed in heaven’s hue, all seems clear,
though in the darkest night
the brashest city light
casts shadow black and white—monochrome.
Yet take my hand, we’ll run
till days and nights are done
swept up into the sun, there to sleep.