Poem
Frank Lima
EPICEDIUM TO POTTER’S FIELD
EPICEDIUM TO POTTER’S FIELD
EPICEDIUM TO POTTER’S FIELD
My father wasA blossom,
And I was his fragile
Epiphyte on his
Days off.
The purple
Dogs of years
Gone by
Watch him smile
At the horizon.
His feretory
Catches the
Rain from the
Smoldering sky.
These fields are
Fallow and dried
Gullies where gin
Sparkled
In the morning.
My father’s remains
Are smooth like the
Starlight that
Makes my life
Slightly yellow.
© 2015, Helen Lima
Poems
Poems of Frank Lima
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EPICEDIUM TO POTTER’S FIELD
My father wasA blossom,
And I was his fragile
Epiphyte on his
Days off.
The purple
Dogs of years
Gone by
Watch him smile
At the horizon.
His feretory
Catches the
Rain from the
Smoldering sky.
These fields are
Fallow and dried
Gullies where gin
Sparkled
In the morning.
My father’s remains
Are smooth like the
Starlight that
Makes my life
Slightly yellow.
EPICEDIUM TO POTTER’S FIELD
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