Summer, Set

Those days,

The white hot

Scorched marrow dry days

Lie flat and wait

For the stroking, stroking

Stroking of paint,

Close flares of Citrine

Yellow and star-blasted blue,

The detailed blaze

Sketched unduly

For the unawake

Lazily traced

In their beds

Tight-eyed to the view

They’ll see,

They’ll see the set

At the rise

And revel in the dash

Of sudden rain

Which fades

The get go to grey

Traded in, downplayed,


Decay in degrade

Someone will wonder,

What have they missed?

I never danced on the shore,

I’ve never been kissed

In Paris or Rome

Under orange sodden bough

I didn’t build sandcastles,

I didn’t know how

I kept my eyes shut

And misplaced

The moment in the now

It’s gone,

I blinked in the flash,

I waded in too late,

The trail is awash;

But show me photographs

Of others,

Unaware of haste

So I know I’m not alone

In what has gone to waste,

Their vital passion passed



Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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