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Gerberoy
I trod the rainswept cobbles
with vines snaking across my palms
and in that wistful juncture
I could be as the antique structures
in the morning - in Gerberoy.
The tone of scratchy courantes spill
from my bride's flaking windowsill
where perched a Victrola.
My auburn dancer in the morn
rests her ear to the petalled horn
where chimed the mandola.
I trod through splashes of oily light
with syrah wrapped around my brain;
and upon this cobble pattern
I could be as the flickering lantern
in the evening - in Gerberoy.
#writco #Love&love #WritcoQuote #poetry
with vines snaking across my palms
and in that wistful juncture
I could be as the antique structures
in the morning - in Gerberoy.
The tone of scratchy courantes spill
from my bride's flaking windowsill
where perched a Victrola.
My auburn dancer in the morn
rests her ear to the petalled horn
where chimed the mandola.
I trod through splashes of oily light
with syrah wrapped around my brain;
and upon this cobble pattern
I could be as the flickering lantern
in the evening - in Gerberoy.
#writco #Love&love #WritcoQuote #poetry
