Fay Slimm (Ageless. / in Cornwall U.K.)
Trumpets of Gold.
Drifts of gleaming bright accost the eye.
Breeze stirs, and each dreamily sighs.
Glowing with gold now, hedgerow and field
Carpeted thus, to Sun-god yield,
Who lights up their stage daily, and saves
His warmth for some yellow Spring play.
Gently he sets them a merry dance.
Daffodil days can't help but entrance.
Trumpeting treasures of golden hue
May your spread seed ever accrue.
Comments about this poem (Trumpets of Gold. by Fay Slimm )
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