Spidery fingers blot their sticky ink over the vermilion horizon,
A dragonfly alights daintily on a jewelled blade of grass.
The sun retreats demurely to its divine cavern of clouds,
Playing tag with our shadows, skipping through the weary trees.
A faded pink bicycle bowing its embarrassed head on a grassy hillside,
I can hear the harsh call of the collared kingfisher.
And steal a glimpse of her palms, blushed in fuchsia,
As she lights the poignant incense.
Solemn dinner served in blighted tin plates,
As the ancient grandfather clock strikes seven.
A stirring etude on the creaky piano,
My grandmother smiles.
The sunset sheds its dress of rays and pools at her youthful feet.
© Zelda Reville