A love poem

It was a promise of summer

That kept her coming back.

Sunshine, fledgling dreams of amber

Fields. Her hair, tiny strands of black,

Flies. She runs through acres.

It was the promise of summer

And a field of stars

That lovers mummer.

Notes of a guitar

fueled her amour.

It was a promise of summer

Year after year

.

That became her blinder.

Trapping her

In a hopeless frontier.

Reviews

[Emily B]

murmur not mummer, I think . . .

and, oh, that promise of summer that toys with our emotions and keeps us returning, forgetting that at the end of summer the flowers wither and die

runs through acres is such a lovely phrase

again, welcome