How the Spring brings Empty Bowls…

The collage’d face of winter’s tree
Leaves a longing long set free
Shuttered clothes we never wore
Washed by winds long overdrawn
*
A tressled lamp what swings the shade
Through these over-faded days
The wicker on the porch for years
What bore so many fallen tears
*
Comings, goings, coppiced love
Coffee in a broken mug
The troubles of a whittled brain
Left to start again again
*
Defenceless to the very end
Nothing wanders, nothing pends
It’s then like boats, we all must shove
A boy will kick his dusty cuff!
*
Boots on memories folded thick
Spiders sprawling, springing sticks
This is how the rocks will roll
and how the spring brings empty bowls
*
My beautiful picture
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