Poetry

Time Waits

Striking, green and crimson,
My row of slender tulips;
The petals formed,
But not as fully
As I would like.

 

Lapping, gentle and hushed,
My white flecked sea;
The waters tepid,
But not as warm
As I would like.

 

Standing, broad and full,
My fruit laden plum tree;
The yield ripe,
But not as soft
As I would like.

 

Floating, silent and light,
Are flakes in snowdrift skies;
The path covered,
But not as deeply
As I would like.

 

Beckoning, beseeching and bright,
My dazzling dreams;
The petals formed, but not as fully
The waters tepid, but not as warm
The yield ripe, but not as soft
The path covered, but not as deeply
As I would like.

 

By Emma Hynes
14th of March 2015

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