Gillian Emerson

Iris

Iris, I saw you that October morn,
gaudy painted hair,
great peacock tears on your cheeks, your childish voice forlorn:
leaves whirling, cold wind that sears the mind,
bites ankles and knees, what made you cry?
Summer passed, but Autumn only means to tease -
the storm-clouds break, the sun again -
and Iris, look, a rainbow in the rain!

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Gillian Emerson.
Published on e-Stories.org on 04/19/2013.

 

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