Did the damsels, in their charged parade, Moon and fawn for the damsel-master still? Their heightened curls fulfilled, in them, The topiary's palate, the green abundant smell. 5 Who would, wicked enough, tell them what they were? They had a haggard pomp and drab panache, Swishing as they wished down rain-anointed streets Curtseying to streetlamps' occipital pull. They cheered each other up. With old gossip 10 And tales teased from the shadows, or here And there some bladed crevice canyonized Between yawns, as they marched, to hold their minds. Time had put the blazing jades away, and, Over-conscientious craftsman, connoisseur of trash, 15 Hoisted from among the once-admiring jades, A few, thin, flecked, neglected greys.
From the collection "Hymns"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.