In The Froth Of Life

It's here a dandelion clock
Is nodding in the froth of life,
It's here…
A meadow overwhelms us:

And all our early seven-senses
It's here a yellow rose is growing
Its first buds amongst a iron fist.

It's here our ankles weigh heavy,
Trembling like two ship anchors,
Docked in a harbor;
Leaving, two ports of call with a siren kiss.

poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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