Mood

Mood

 

Camellia blooms lay

Like rosettes

Thrown away in pique

On the road-side verge

Adrift now and prey

To neglect. That long death

When colours go to grey

And lazy feet

Mince their soft flesh

Into the deep gravy of earth

But if you correct the view

That line of sight

Can be assailed by crisp

Tight buds and petals in their prime

And you might forget

That sense of loss

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