The rhododendron trail has a roof
Clad in hues
Of departing autumn:
Orange of the maple leaf,
Ever so elegant in its fall;
Green of the magnolia,
Eager to blush at the faintest whispers
The barren have long shed their green
Revealing my winter blues –
An endless playground for wings.
Death is the end, only
If you think it so;
Just ask the tiny oak nut that rebels,
And breaches the silence
Of an infinite jungle on tiptoes.
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- Tagged autumn, blues, canopy, forest, love, magnolia, maple, nature, oak, poem, poetry, rhododendron, trail, trees, walk, wildlife, winter
The steps are smaller
Than my nimble feet remember.
I climb them two at a time,
The koels are still here
With their songs;
Masked bee eaters, spoonbills and sunbirds-
The season’s flavour-
Now add to the evening clamour.
Termites have built abodes
With the dust of abandoned dreams
And unused melancholy
On derelict walls –
Nostalgia has the nicest friends.
The house still stands tall but
Home has misplaced its landmarks;
There lives an abstract familiarity
Where a boy once scraped his knees bloody
On the landscape of possibilities.
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The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 37,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 14 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
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