There is a Perfume [poem]

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there_is_a_perfume

There is a perfume
far beyond all odours
which a nose can know
or physical olfactory
senses outly show.

In Summer, it exudes full scent
intoxicated senses bloom
through August’s rude and
drunken wombful blaze.
In Autumn, it is thinly there
(a melancholy haze)
and smells like loam
but sings a wansome tune
which browns the leaves
(who float down to
their home the floor
as embryonic dust)
and cools the air
and infinitely more
for lovers of the fall.
In Winter, it is patent
in the twigs and seeds
(what kind of culture calls
wildflower beauty ‘weeds’?)
where only fecund earth
with latent promise
gives all watchers hope —
a harbinger of newness
in the frozen gloom.

There is a perfume
far beyond all colours
which
with rainbow prism’s flow
imprisoned captives
willingly incarcerate themselves
in youthful glow!

For Essence is the hub of
life’s
effusive
inextinguishable
apron-string
as bark and buds and stars
cry out (some call it sing)
“This perfume’s name
is…
Spring!”

.
.
© Alan Morrison, 2014

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