Sunday, 27 April 2014

My Foolish Heart.

Still a few days left of April, the poem a day month, so here we go again.


Rich,   gold encrusted autumn
most precious of the seasons,
though death hangs as a distant mist
on yon not far off horizon;
within my heart still burns,
unashamed and unabated,
that fire of eternal spring
the mystery of life created. 

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