SENTINEL POETRY (ONLINE) #14     JANUARY 2004

JOHN THOMSON


BEGINNINGS.

Especially when wild bluebells dance
in perfect time and hold
green fingers to the sun
in brittle ghosts of grass
they beg an azure sky
for rain.
As a cold-eyed morning wakes
in crimson clouds
and crystal air
and silence lasts forever.
On flames of green
as ravens cry
I take your hands
they yield like
flowers in spring...

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