Dying back

window wet

The jaunty cheerfulness of wildflowers blown,
flown with the swift, silent swooping of the swallows.

Brown stalks stand still,
though the rot has taken the juice from them,
stark reminders of what has gone,

and only hope in the hypothetical return
of the warm certainties of what once was,
lingers among damp roots,
burrowing deep into the cold earth.

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.

6 thoughts on “Dying back”

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