Happy Birthday
They chant in unison, the twenty-five flickers of flame,Busied by the convex glassed beads; the pebbles of blazes slain.
Settling down in a palette, the greasy involutes,
Quirked in space, glued together for safekeeping time.
The waxwing in the clock sings a thread of a ballad,
Years, abstruse, can not betray their fluidity to her.
The lilacs, watching through the fragile blinds,
Line up gracefully for the tinkling chimes.
Outside the window, dew floats on a mauve cloudlet,
Strayed from the velvet mist, it rests on the solitary rosette.
The shadow lines spin on the ground, weaving a sunburst.
And the forlorn autumn leaves pause and brood;
Throwing a glance to the glazed sun and the greying twig.
posted by thelostcause @ 3:32 AM
