The Evening 'Ere

With her beautiful mask, and the Spanish fans with which she wove
The evening air, her Summer hair was only Heaven on fire, dancing in the Light
Writing scripts that she wore as a dress like eternal morning so becoming
Love never had to ask, about also rans all thee above
Looking up and down and through the Night of Rain, let forgetfulness
Like violet rings of smoke from enchanted, haunted cigarette ghosts
Were climbing sighs the purloined highs lined in burning satin embers
Whoever remembers the moment, the magical reverse, inverse corridors of line
Fine as memory and every bit as lovely, sad were all the phrases lost, along
With her beautiful mask, and the Spanish fans with which she wove
The evening air. .



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 492 times
Written on 2016-03-25 at 22:03

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