deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sunshine on the Garden
The afternoon sun came through the clouds. It lit up the leaves like a crucible spill of cooked emerald. The slowworm took it easy. The toad sat under a patch of large cool leaves. Jenny Wren sang the blackbird answered. The smell of cooking wafted from the kitchen window. It merged with the honeysuckle and a sudden hunger, left over from a bland and rushed breakfast, returned.
The sound of the piano plays softly from the needle to the grove. I don’t want to wake up…but I will.
Published 7th Jun 2024
| Edited 13th Jun 2024
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 2
reads 56
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
7th Jun 2024 11:39pm
9th Jun 2024 6:01pm
Thanks.
I think I am a sentimental Englishman sometimes.
I have to check that side of me.
But Gardens are beautiful when the sun shines.
Regards
James
I think I am a sentimental Englishman sometimes.
I have to check that side of me.
But Gardens are beautiful when the sun shines.
Regards
James
