Committed writers dedicated to working together to produce excellent poems, short stories, drama, life writing, and creative non-fiction

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Tuesday 31 January 2017


You weep your leaves into
water's lap below,
a flotilla of sienna, vermilion, gold.

Your boughs, near naked now,
reach up and out,
your sculptural fluidity mirrored below

all wreathed in shafts of Autumn sunlight.
The windows of my mind treasure
this memento of your resplendence.

© Helen McIntosh
All rights reserved

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