Treasure Island

Brian Taylor

(England)

11th Hour,11th Day,11th Month


November Rose.
Pink and white and mauve.
Solitary, still,
among the rosemary and late autumnal gorse.

Sea winds have blown.
The first frosts have frozen the short grass.

Spring and summer are memories,
midwinter an echo in reverse.

November Rose for the dying.
November Poppies for the dead,
who cannot sleep
but stream towards new birth;
whose pain outlasts
the bitter Flanders earth.

Submitted: Tuesday, November 05, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, November 06, 2013

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Poet's website: www.universaloctopus.com

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