Bougainvillea

The winds brushing the palm trees,

Singing our soft and silent ease.

The warm painted walls dispel,

The clanging toll of London’s bell.

Sand and sea entice and murmur,

Could your cares and worries be further?

The muffled echoes of tranquil streets,

Caress and offer sun-kissed treats.

Heaven, heaven am I really here?

Did that darkling cloud truly clear?

Spanish guitar and sweet-iced sangria,

Blessed in the boughs of violet bougainvillea.

© K.N.Liddington

 

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