The Pink Roses Of November
Storm clouds on bleak horizons rage.
Leah’s November pink roses fade.
Gray fingers dip and touch the naked trees.
Sleeping…sleeping till the breath of spring.
Gray squirrels skitter,
Songbirds rise in a hurried hush.
The air thick; all consuming;
The sky swells, holding too much.
Claps of thunder break,
The dreams no man can utter.
A south wind arrives,
Pink petals of Leah’s November rose,
on the tempest flutter.
Silence now ensues as gray turns to black.
The trees in rush sing…
Calling, oh calling me back…
J. Allen Wilson © 11/30/2010
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Leah’s November pink roses fade. Mine did too. This poem was so well written I had to go get a sweater and I live in sunny California.
Write on J. Allen. You've got the golden pen.
We had a tornado watch till 4am in my neck of the woods. Excellent poetry here.
Blessings,
~Linda
Blessings,
Christine