Under The Dark Of The Vine Veranda
Coral dust blows
off the white beach
onto the slatted table.
Overhead, a trellis
of brown wood and green leaves
and, pushing through, dense clusters
of pink and white
Ladies’ Finger Nails,
sweet scented with a trace of lime.
An orchestra of cicadas,
the rustling of a million
tiny silver bells.
A fine sprinkling sound.
Like frost.
poem by Brian Taylor
Added by Poetry Lover
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