ON FAVOURS TRODDEN
The softest scent of timid moments glum
brief reflection of their modest bouquet
blot gentile but never cumbersome
ripen sensitively sellucid grey,
Melancholy like a feather rises
crusted, tarred, soiled phantom curse cloying
senses approaching with no guises
thine temporary stupor enjoying - !
Wanton ivy roots at the bolsoid stone
shielded slips of wistful acrid flavour
resist to mutter thine faded atone
sweeter florals one morose could savour,
For they nod - swaying with a gentle curve
forsaking the strife of your crude unnerve.
Comments