Summer 2008 Poetry Competition First Prize

The Lime Grove

by Jean Jones


Down by the fragrant lime grove,

Where we lost track of time,

The trees would seem to scythe

A fragment of the sky

And ply it to the breeze,

Then, they’d deftly tie

Among their lacy leaves,

A cache of silver stars

Entwined in emerald weave.


Now the grove is barren

And no one lingers there,

But magic long forgotten

Is in the silver of your hair.

 ©2008 Jean Jones

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