Bunnacurry Poet

Crisp mornings meandering through trees,

ambling along the crooked path,

nudged softly, beside the water’s edge,

aimlessly wandering, weeping willows

drape the winding waterway,

as animated figures dot the landscape,

lazy swans slowly preening in the urban hinterland

Sweet smells buried

underneath the bed clothes

they remained there

embracing the warmth

of this moment,

guiding each other

to unknow pleasures,

Spring brings à new fragrance

of rebirth and longing

Words streaming

in oblivion

lost among the grey surf,

sentences paused

in the slow ripples cascading towards us,

drenched in sultry tones

of real time,

bathed in grey,

we tinkle with each gush,

soaked in temptation

and an enduring stream

of mistaken cues,

the water receding from our toes,

we look beyond the horizon,

beyond our last thought.

(c) Emer Davis

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