Winter leaves a land
of still anticipation,
bathed in orange light.
~
Biscuits, coffee, nestled in
his ship – a cutter perched on rusty
barrels, small before the sun.
~
A nearby nest of lanes – the garden
done, she heads to yellow flames, as coldness comes,
and cuts, and the colours merge to grey.
~
And as they sink within the
night, I think of them, the single house,
the trees and whispering sea.
~
When I return, the
smiles will be warm, and I will
find a part of me.
Nicholas Rowe Poetry 
I enjoyed this poem and loved the last line about returning. Thank you for the follow!
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Beautiful! It feels like a memory.
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Congratulations Nick! Beautiful words x
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Thank you Olympia 😊
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“bathed in orange light.” I’ve been there with the sun! Beautiful, one commenter wrote it reads like a memory, It does ❤
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