Bottled
The bottles sat, empty, clean,
timelessly transparent upon the purity
of a chalk walkway;
antiquated memories
of morning milkmen linger.
The hollow hourglass shapes
lacking the grains of time,
reflecting, and refracting lemon light
dollops of cream, buttermilk dreams.
Devon Red herds await
the bottles empty state,
to fill with froth, to zing tin pails,
to drowse to the lilt of a milkmaids’ aire.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment