Sue, a good revision and finish
they stay, settling like dust,
stolid as old desires, faded, gray,
until spring mists the hills with green
and pear trees spread white sails.
With waterfall voices, doves return.
Light shifts upon the lawn.
No one sees them go;
the wrought-iron gate swings close.
esp the mists and sail lines, which might make a fine end.
Thanks.
Gary
IF MY MAIL BOUNCES, MAIL [log in to unmask] AS AN ALTERNATIVE.....The homepage
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out the Auden contest. Poets for Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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