Shades Of Brown
by 
Lisa
|
Posted: Sunday, August 24, 2003 Word Count: 143 Summary: By popular demand, I have reverted to the original title! Thanks for your wisdom, all. |
Don’t leave me with dying roses
and your narcissi,
vain and gaunt.
Don’t forget your greenhouse,
steam house,
children’s dream house
and its narcotic earthy scent.
Take your russet armchair
with the faded cushions
and your smell.
Remember that teak-framed photograph
when you were the lorry man,
your waving hand so much bigger than
mine.
Don’t forget to take that warmth
from your coffee-coloured slippers
that swim around my tiny feet.
Finish off those biscuits,
sweep beige crumbs
from the carpet
that make me think of you.
Then there’s the tomatoes:
Who will grow those
and the beans?
The crumbling soil needs your time
to create life
and to give mine
identity.
Don’t leave me with the ticking clock,
that secret knock
so you know it’s me.
Don’t leave me with just memories
of plants and sounds
and shades of brown.
Don’t leave.
and your narcissi,
vain and gaunt.
Don’t forget your greenhouse,
steam house,
children’s dream house
and its narcotic earthy scent.
Take your russet armchair
with the faded cushions
and your smell.
Remember that teak-framed photograph
when you were the lorry man,
your waving hand so much bigger than
mine.
Don’t forget to take that warmth
from your coffee-coloured slippers
that swim around my tiny feet.
Finish off those biscuits,
sweep beige crumbs
from the carpet
that make me think of you.
Then there’s the tomatoes:
Who will grow those
and the beans?
The crumbling soil needs your time
to create life
and to give mine
identity.
Don’t leave me with the ticking clock,
that secret knock
so you know it’s me.
Don’t leave me with just memories
of plants and sounds
and shades of brown.
Don’t leave.