Parkland Tryst

Giving this one some more air

From the starlit lake
a suggestion of mist 
drifts towards the bench
where I sit every time.

I’m slow and often late, 
but she forgives me,
graciously as always, 
no doubt delighted that
I love the way she models
each year’s grandest dress
and the seductive way
she lets slip its leaves,
yellowed and rustling,
till she’s naked and shivers
as the mist thickens
in the hardening cold.

I would embrace her, 
warm her if I could,
but she prefers me to wait:
I’ll be hers soon enough.

© Nemo 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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As soon as I began reading this I thought I had read it before then I saw your intro so guessed I was right. I loved it the first time and I still love it now. Thank you for reposting. Sue.


I believe you likened one of my poems to Verlaine a year or three ago, Gerald. Yours would seem to be leaning in the same direction; a gentle, wistful commentary on the natural passing of time. Perhaps ‘each time’ instead of ‘every time’ Seems to flow better. A real gem.


I liked this very much. It was sad and not truly ‘of this world’ and that’s the kind of thing I like to read about.
For me it flowed calmly and maybe a little wistfully.
Thank you for sharing for me to read.


Do no harm

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