There were magnolias outside my window,
Purple in bud, pink and white in blossom.
When the window was open, the branches,
Resting on the sill, reached into the room.
On a quiet summer afternoon I stood
Watching the garden and the street beyond,
Where, in the dusty sunlight, moved a group
Of laughing, shouting cyclists. As they passed,
Their sound moved, merging with the flowers' perfume.
Even now, the scent of those magnolias
Washes in my mind; though the grey gales
Of winter have returned to haunt me
In an alien sky, latticed only with memory.
Copyright © 1986, 2002
Kerry Elizabeth Thompson
and MouseWorks Productions