Following on from yesterday’s poem. An illustration that almost fit now has a poem of its own.


She walked through summer fields

Touching beauty with her fingertips

Seeing nothing for the sun was dark.

The scent of lilies filled the air

But her head was full of bitter blood

And the rancid smell of death beneath the sheets.

The wind blew and wrapped its words around her like a shroud

No more joy in all that lives and breathes

The blue and green and flower petal pink

For he was gone and lilies sunshine and the summer breeze

Were loveless as dull rain pounding on fresh-turned earth.


He scatters the petals of her heart

The sound of the morning, the song of the thrush
And the wind in the poppies that cover the lea.
The breeze sings its songs of the surf on the strand
And the tang on the tongue is the salt from the sea.

In the quiet of morning it called you away
Though you said that your dream would not keep up apart.
The wind from the ocean is cold as my bed
And howls in the hollow where you plucked my heart.

The colours of morning the greens and the gold
The white of the blossom that hung on the tree
And the blood red of petals, scattered and spoiled
By the salt-tangy breeze that blows in from the sea.

©Avi1111 dr. avishai teicher
©Avi1111 dr. avishai teicher