Thursday, August 28, 2008

Happy Hour

The phlox are flirting flippantly
aflame from dewy draughts
and roam the gently sloping lea
to feast on golden shafts,

though stymied by the stony walls
erected to define
they drain their cups as nighttime falls
to savor evanescent wine.

4 comments:

paisley said...

don't that just roll ever so exquisitely off the tongue.....

The Catalyst (J.M. Romig) said...

great write, I love how fluid this poem is.

rch said...

hi paisley, why thank you ever so much.

hey catalyst, you should definitely submit something to Word Catalyst with a name like that. Thanks a lot!

Shirley said...

Sheer music! You should have been a musician! ;)