Red the lips

Red the lips of true love
Stories from them bled
That danced a twirl
Like a leaf around, the
Ballroom of my head .
The fruit that’s ripe
barely clings , to
Autumns branches bare
Like I cling to the thought
Of you, when your
No longer there .
I wait to pick the sweet fruit
That time and sun has kissed
With a taste of I remember now
The simple things in you I missed
Can I trace loves moment
In the pattern of our smile
That quenches all that emptiness
That absence begins to pile
Or will the memory whither
It’s ripe fruits spoil and rot
It’s history a dried up bouquet
of once so sweet, Forget-me-not.

Red the lips

timbuckley

Muckross Killarney, Ireland

  • Artwork Comments 13

Artwork Comments

  • evon ski
  • timbuckley
  • shelleybabe2
  • timbuckley
  • Tony Wilder
  • timbuckley
  • KobayashiMaru
  • sandra22
  • shelleybabe2
  • evon ski
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  • timbuckley
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