Twas Autumn's Doing Poem by james watkin

Twas Autumn's Doing



Twas Autumn's doing.
Cold wind's, not words' gall.
Down bee's rose circuit, spured on
This courting route's fall.

A tremulous leaf
Let go of, your hand.
Midst perfume-petalled fragments.
Hours' balmy riband.

Moon's, the sole jaunting
For poise that held out.
Evening primrose, who'd mirrored
That truth spun about!

Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: romance
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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