Of course it isn’t but what if This wind-scattered bed of soft rotting Pied apricot leaves decides to pull Itself together and take off back to where The sky’s the limit again?
Here the mouldy magic carpet of leaves has sunk to the ocean floor (i.e. the flooded streets), where it takes a fresh pounding with each successive storm. Nonetheless the melodious chant and the brilliant boy of wood have smoked me out into the thought of brighter days, hinted at in the lofty ascent of this poem to its happy ending. What has happened to happy endings, any more?
Can it be they have all been baked magically into a daft elder's late-out-of-the-oven holiday pie?
The first thing I have read today. A beautiful image to carry me, as on a magic carpet, through another busy, glorious day.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jonathan--always room for one more.
ReplyDeletesoft rotting/ Pied apricot leaves
ReplyDeleteLovely cluster of words with "pied" showing up brightly
Thanks, WB.
ReplyDeleteThis is lovely, Vassilis.
ReplyDeleteHere the mouldy magic carpet of leaves has sunk to the ocean floor (i.e. the flooded streets), where it takes a fresh pounding with each successive storm. Nonetheless the melodious chant and the brilliant boy of wood have smoked me out into the thought of brighter days, hinted at in the lofty ascent of this poem to its happy ending. What has happened to happy endings, any more?
Can it be they have all been baked magically into a daft elder's late-out-of-the-oven holiday pie?
Thanks so much Tom--your mention of happy endings moved me enough to pen this little ditty commemorating Greece's recent financial "victory".
ReplyDeleteA Farewell to Grexit
No more alas in bankrupt Hellas—
Money up the bunghole, adios morass!