Palace Lagoon - a poem
Despite so many things,
soft, pink blooms have blossomed
amidst the beech tree's cupped fists;
and unnoticed by many,
the clapping of shimmering shears
has trimmed this rolling lawn
so that it glistens, redolent of green
at this gloaming hour.
I may have grown accustomed
to the - so white -
as he preens across the lagoon
and yet, I am stunned
by the brooding branches
of the willow
and their resurrection
into a shining glory -
all green, plush and illumined.
Not to mention
how the sprawling lawn
nearly meets the curling lips of
these newly, bedecked branches.
Is hopeful the only way
to describe a swath of sunlight
iridescent on the sloping grass?
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