Winter, If Not Whisked Off The Sky Poem by james watkin

Winter, If Not Whisked Off The Sky



Winter, if not whisked off the sky
Is purged in the mind.
Exposed to song that's all sunshine:
Tonings to the blind.

When tipsy-like, from his pulpit
Grevillea-red
Hangs the wattlebird, dogmatic:
"Honied times ahead".

Tuesday, August 13, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: bird,prophecy
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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