Winter's Day at the Closerie des Lilas

by Willow Rose

Beneath a sky of mushroom hue
and clouds gravid with snow;
misfortune’s child lies sleeping
oblivious to the cold.
Welded to his wrought iron bench,
warmed by Bacchus and old newsprint,
stray droplets of spittle
freezing on his grey stubbled
cheek.

He sleeps on unaware…
of the writers at the Closerie
wreathed in smoke
from their Gauloises
ensconced in warmth;
drinking espresso while
picking apart the stuff of life
with well-honed minds,
while a blush of blue
is slowly creeping
across a forgotten
figure.

Wrapped in words and wisdom
the poets leave;
One stops and stares,
pokes and prods
the frigid form;
then hurries home to his
cold water flat,
composing tributes in his head
to the snow shrouded figure
he is leaving for dead.

©Willow Rose 2011

15 thoughts on “Winter’s Day at the Closerie des Lilas by Willow Rose

  1. A friend told me of this poem and I read it of Willow’s and it is so beautiful I am glad the friend told me of this, because I enjoyed reading it so much.

    • Nelieta, I thank you for your comment on “Winter’s Day” it really is my favorite; truthfully it took me four months to write.! I have been battling an illness brought on by chemotherapy and hopefully will be able to start giving you feedback as you have been so kind and patient to do with me. I am on Twitter but just don’t know how to work it exactly; but I am going to try! love, willow

    • Thank you Adriene for your comments! Irony is the operative thing going on here; I was afraid it was too subtle and would be overlooked. You have reaffirmed my faith in myself dear Adriene; thank you and I look forward to reading your post. love and light, willow


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