Ravens  cry
in the evening gloom,
ever louder as daylight ebbs.

Shadows reclaim glory in
a surge of song:

‘Don’t dare ignore us
we’re still here’.

They nod and bounce on branch endings,
flirtatious in the chattering wind.
Pale and perfect cream with
subtlest  pink edges.

Others are blowsier; glowing like balls of
candle- light. Flickering;
casting generous white petals in
audacious glee.

Older blooms have withered, shrinking
into themselves. Outer petals cradle decay.
Cracked and dry, eventually
they die, like discarded news.

Andrea Bowd

If you have any comments on these poems, Andrea Bowd would be pleased to hear from you.