Ripples

I should have been a flower child
sachet of sonnets stitched
in my front jean pocket
and bare feet
in miles of lavender.

They say where two or more
are gathered, there you are
and here we stand,

up to our eyes in gift of sun
and stars when light goes dim.

When winter comes,
fingers warmed by whispers;
feathered followers
leaving ripples
in a river red as love.

~

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4 thoughts on “Ripples

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