Whispering green.
Many verdant spears above rippling torrent,
Touched and capered by smiling zephyr.
Within the facade of whispering green,
Plants have flowered between earthly Heather.
We adhere to the placid dawn of growth,
Stained within our years of farewell.
I'm a dweller to a blithe springtime,
The cloak of butterfly bush and bluebell.
Garment of the brisk rain fondling the fresh,
Clique of petals searching for sun.
Prayers across the winter cry,
Contesting for our spring to become.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
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Written on 2012-03-22 at 00:10
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