Charles Cowling

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Roadside Flowers 

by Paul Wooldridge

The trees along my route are wrapped
in flowers, quickly passed each day
but only noticed by a few.
Their colours burst then slip from view
as each is lost, submerged in grey,
their brightness all too quickly sapped.

Should death come on a carriageway
to leave me by some roadside oak,
do not leave flowers at the scene
to highlight loss, what could have been.
A further sacrifice, they soak
in rain, abandoned to decay.

No, focus on this life and not
the flowers left, ignored, to rot.

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Ariadne
Ariadne
6 years ago

Only just read this now – another brilliant poem. Actually 3rd October is national poetry day….and my birthday. Ha. Cheers Paul – from a happy Poem Hound.
A x

Vale
Vale
6 years ago

What a lovely, intricate sonnet! The form still has the power to surprise you when you come across it so rarely – capturing thought and perception and always with that emphatic parting shot.
For myself I find these roadside shrines – the knots of flowers and the white painted bicycles – unbearably poignant. Like Eliot’s ‘dust in the air suspended’ they ‘mark the place where a story ended.’