When words were your only nourishment

I fed you calla lilies budding in my throat,

the shimmering wings of a thousand bees

thrumming walls of verse.

From the stacked shelves of your smoky library

I read to you  Aristophanes,

of all poets we loved him best.

In the final hours

we longed for rippling  wheat fields,

anything windswept,

certain of life and death.

orchid petals


40 thoughts on “the hours

      1. I’m still not getting your posts on the reader, by the way. I’ve isolated the issue as affecting just 4 of the blogs I follow (including my son’s blog). As WP won’t let me unfollow then follow anew on your blog, maybe it’s worth tackling the issue the other way around? Would you be so kind as to ‘unfollow’ me then try following? Sorry about this. As an incidental issue, I was using my tablet (rare for me) yesterday and on the WP reader it showed all of the blogs I follow as being ones I was being invited to follow. I am at a loss to understand what is going wrong!

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  1. So lovely, Holly! The line about wheatfields – I can’t help but think of Van Gogh comparing the fields of wheat around Arles to ‘the sea’. Wonderful!

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