Thursday, May 7, 2015


Rose coloured glass,
Like shades you always wore;
Sunset's hand
Brushes two-blued daytime's sky
Into yellow and red
And even more,
While the creamy,
Sandy shore
Fades nearby.

Amongst wispy,
Distant small clouds
I can,
I think,
Make out pictures
Of you.
They face
The fleeting sun
Unbowed and proud,
Turned gold,
Like your honey-sweet
Warmest hue.

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