Sunday PM



She likes her sweet wine
And biscuits pur buerre,
Dipped and sipped
From her roof in the sky.

Garden City is quiet,
Sunday lies in retreat,
The bells have quietened
It is a Sunday silence.

Below Monsieur Axonge
Is twirling, smoke curling
She doesn't see him, he
Doesn't see her.

She dips and sips
He swirls and curls
In the City of Gardens
On a soft Sunday noon.





Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 1187 times
Written on 2015-02-08 at 10:23

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


shells
I'm with Lawrence on this one, delightful.
2015-02-09



I agree with all the comments. These are delightful descriptions written with an expert hand. So enjoyable!!
Ashe
2015-02-08


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Bravo! I can't say why I so like this poem, but I do.
2015-02-08



Like the descriptions from a Balzac novel. Vivid and comprehensive picture of a quiet Sunday afternoon, with an economy of words. Enjoyed.
2015-02-08


Chaucer Whethers
She sits in contemplations, painting exquisite miniatures in passages through time.
2015-02-08