12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

• Week 33 • Terza Rima •

Pre-Raphaelite – a Terza Rima 

The hoarfrost rose warmed by poets’ sighs,
its canes, its sweet blades frame gossamer morn
where winter’s nights are pierced by summer eyes.

Beyond the picture the rime traces thorn
and twig; the sleeping creatures burrowed, still.
But there, in the flaming summer, a dawn-

drenched redhead clasps her hair with a lily
forever; the sun’s unreached azimuth,
forever; blue eyes, chin curve, the high sill

of cheek and brow, all captured forever.
In stasis the waking creatures play, youth
is theirs, is hers, while the seasons sever

from all within the frame and age the rest of us, cut ties
so that the hoarfrost rose is warmed by a poet’s sighs.

Tell me wotcha reckon

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