Saturday, 5 August 2017


Sunflowers in line
Standing at attention
Facing their maker, dressed in cheerful gold
Lines, rows; perfectly ruled
Nodding with the weight of their smile.

Swaying at length with the rhythm of the wind
Green wisps of hair tickle at their chin
A chorus of yellowness, bathing in blue
What are they waiting for; who do they call?
The call to me, a call from you.

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