White
A featherly vane
molds my window screens,
on cool fall morns
that frost the scenes,
and there adorns,
sets thoughts to train
on what she means.
In the drifting showers,
as mallards preen,
she endures to glean
her ruby smiles draw me between
the forest lawns
set low and lean,
into the pass of paired wet swans,
furled white down flowers
that ripple and clean.
She is a lense,
a purity that slakes
the lilys fronds
all in their cultured greens,
but in the string of ponds
it is she I sense,
and want just what she means
along her rain swept lakes.
molds my window screens,
on cool fall morns
that frost the scenes,
and there adorns,
sets thoughts to train
on what she means.
In the drifting showers,
as mallards preen,
she endures to glean
her ruby smiles draw me between
the forest lawns
set low and lean,
into the pass of paired wet swans,
furled white down flowers
that ripple and clean.
She is a lense,
a purity that slakes
the lilys fronds
all in their cultured greens,
but in the string of ponds
it is she I sense,
and want just what she means
along her rain swept lakes.
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