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Days of grey... A cashmere day to wear upon the mind Soft in grey, the warmth to keep, to find Inside, to dwell a spell, let sink the spoils of cold, and raise the heated pot That boils the broth of Earls to teas, to brighten dulled acuities. Laugh gentle life, you’ve been here before Your grounds succumbing to your sun’s implore To foggy rituals spun in gauze’ure clouds To tree limbs wrapped around the flocculent shroud Ancient voice, a toddy on the wind’ In size not large enough to hang within The softness of a day too wet to bear Her tears except in minute fragment fare. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Regis L Chapman On Date: 2008-07-28 15:59:07
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Ah what a gorgeous celebration of the English tradition of tea and toddy. I think your expression of it is the quintessence of the practice and I imagine you somehow in a dress with endless ruffles and lace with a white frilly tablecloth and doilies everywhere!
The natural aspects you speak of are woven so nicely throughout, they seem to be just a part of the ingestion of the food and the spacious atmosphere, and where one begins the next ends. Very well done poet!
Om,
Regis