On days of slanting, sledging winds
the trees resist rude buffetings,
the rain of blows, the gusts aimed
at the slender, unprotected throat.
Eucalypts throw boomerangs -
brittle, superseded limbs;
elm leaves skim the asphalt
in flotillas, little yellow boats.
I trample blades of beaten grass
that gleam in winter's bleaker sun
like shards of glass, my hair spun
into fiery vortices of light -
huddled in my overcoat,
collar raised in self-defence,
a paper kite, pursued by giants
of atmospheric turbulence.
Park in Winter
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105062300376
Свидетельство о публикации №105062300376
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