Taste of time begins to dull
ticks of spice turn clockwise gruel.
Ink forms script on pages new
memories writ, the present’s gift.
Black on white shall tell the tale
when life deserts the day.
Taste of time begins to dull
ticks of spice turn clockwise gruel.
Ink forms script on pages new
memories writ, the present’s gift.
Black on white shall tell the tale
when life deserts the day.
lillian the home poet 
wow I read that one through several times to savor it. I like the synesthetic way you play with the senses and their interaction between different events in the narrator’s day (eating breakfast, writing, end of day)
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Ah Melinda, I always love to see your replies! Thank you – love chatting with you over morning coffee again!
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You’re welcome! 🙂
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Hello, my friend.
This is an exquisite piece of poetic music. Your words, Lillian – each and every time are exceptional.
am:)
If I don’t get another chance until after the holiday,s I want to wish you a joyous, relaxing, coffee-drinking, wine-sipping holiday. To you and yours, my friend – Merry Christmas!
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