the poppy, twirled behind the pane,
opening it’s petals, within a frame
ponders snowfall, ne’er the rain.
how silently, it’s whispers call
and wander, ’til flecks end their fall
and red begins to bow and wane
like vignettes, sacred and profane.

3 thoughts on “vignette

  1. Pingback: What I was thinking…better metaphors | Taps and Ratamacues

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