Some Days The Window Is Open Poem by Mark Heathcote

Some days, the window is open
and you return to me my primrose
by those old crystal moonlit streams
by the purple waters of the woodland pond
there's an acknowledging look, a romantic gaze
a kind of peevish blush behind a cabin lodge
it's then all-time stands stark-naked still
and the walls have somehow vanished
and even death, worm ravished
there is a graveside flower
a yellow wan, primrose envisaged.

~or~

Some days, the window is open
and you return to me my primrose
by those old crystal moonlit streams
by the purple waters of that woodland pond
there's an acknowledging look, a romantic gaze
a kind of peevish blush behind a cabin lodge
it's then all-time stands stark-naked still
and the walls have somehow vanished
and even death, worm ravished
whispers like a graveside flower
a milky wan primrose envisaged.
And you darling was a collage
in the fall leaves, comes back to life
a primrose in my melancholic dreams.