Blanket Stitch

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Wrote this quite a few years ago now. Not sure about the title any more but will keep it as a working title for now. I always try to leave a comment on pieces I read — I would be very grateful if you could do the same for me! Thank you and I hope you enjoy.

Blanket Stitch 

This has all been done before: 
The shrouded morn, the baleful twilight 
Those with a lighter touch than mine 
Have washed water-coloured Autumn 
Limpid, pale and muted across the page, 
Leaving more behind than 
Brush strokes. 

Who can say he has not seen the 
Blanket of leaves, red and gold or 
Abandoned brown upon the ground? 
Who has not relished the wisp and crunch 
Of heartless footfall on fallen treasure, whilst 
Turning blind senses from the dark and 
Sliding rottenness beneath, seeing only the beauty 
In death? 

You have stepped out swathed in 
Scarves and gloves, swaddled in coats, 
Become a sweating skulk, desperate for air 
Only to be wrapped more tightly yet in the 
Dank coldness; the determined chill of Winter’s breath. 
She is but a pace away, you know; waiting, 
Draped in patience, adorned with her 
Dazzling smile. 

An infant, cradled in a world as warm as Summer, 
Fresh as Spring, has not seen these things. 

S P Oldham

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