end game
end gamepenny whistle
plays a lively tune
to
dance by
while I wonder
-- if Ireland is really
as green
as stories tell
of banquet halls
built with ancient
stone
surrounded by emerald green
green -- melancholy colour
no matter how bright
its hue
colour of envy -- some have surmised
envy -- from whence has it
arrived
when shall it
leave?
rainbow and all its
tincture is a lovely vision
one of Nature's greatest
-- jokes
whimsical anomaly
can't quite describe
ephemeral
mirage
mirage -- distinctive
for a moment
edge of sight's
counterfeit
some memory
from long ago
or present tense
just -- so.
vcp
18 March 2017
Poetry by Victor
Read 700 times
Written on 2017-03-19 at 04:12
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