Crepe Myrtle
Lost like unused syllables in unrhyming words
petals of frilled sorrow drip to the earth from weeping trees,
crying each filigreed petal slowly, one by one,
in cascades of gentle tears to their tender rest,
shaping billowing beds of brightly colored pillows,
until soft breaths of evening breeze exhale long sighs
through longing limbs creating whirlwinds of smiling fragrance
in the fawning dance of each nectarous petal.
Like lover's swirling in life's last dying embrace,
reflections of cold loneliness slip past with each fallen bud.
Soon the flowers will be lost in winter's stark gray advance,
and the smooth bark of the Crepe Myrtle will lie dormant
yearning for the elongating warm caress of Spring,
and its delicate chiffon cloak of humbled innocence,
again hiding its discomfiting gnarled nakedness
behind silken vales of scintillating incandescence.
11/07/15
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015
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