She Will Return With a Flaming Torch

A different aspect on Spring’s arrival if you suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder

I’m swamped by this cumbersome duvet
that resists my attempts to wrestle it off
while coddling me to sleep even longer.

A shadow beckons from the window
enticing me to drift across the river
only to snare me in twilight.

Struggling to rise, I scrutinise
the sky for willow warblers returning
from palms in toasted lands,

but it’s premature, for their circadian
stirring. I drag drapes back further.
Naked arms wave frantically

pleading to be buttoned with buds,
succoured by mother orb.
hopeless, I slump into pillows, waiting

for Persephone’s return.


© capricorn 2023
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Yep, like this. We could do all do with some of those toasted lands HaHa!


Cast off that winter duvet, Eira. Time to get out the summer one. Beware of shadows across the window… old Morpheus is not the only shadowy one out and about in depth of night. Enjoyed your poem. Take care, Mick.

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