Harry St Vincent Beechey Poems

Our kisses are those of children,

Warm, and sweet, and innocent.
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A sound slides down the surface of the morning

rippling the stillness
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Can this be an autumn day?

The sky a balmy blue.
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The bell is cracked

But no matter
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A bubble is burst.

Where now the rainbow people
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The sun is shining still

And people go about their business
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Sawn in half!

and in her prime too!
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We scuttle sideways through life

Seeking a larger shell.
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Faded sepia

A frame of grey cardboard
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Beginnings are different.

The Hope, the Newness, the Unfolding; Sprouting shoots greeted by spring sunshine; The thawing of ice, the greening.
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