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
Older blooms have withered, shrinking
into themselves. Outer petals cradle decay.
Cracked and dry, eventually
they die, like discarded news.
If you have any comments on these poems, Andrea Bowd would be
pleased to hear from you.