Yellow Mandevilla

You speak so simply.

You flower like the horn

Of an old gramophone

Tarnished and polished

Golden yellow.

Those crackly 78s

Played till worn

Around the rim

Sounding mellow

For the blues, like you

Attracting the bees

To dance a shoe shuffle

Shake of edisonian grace.

I listen as you

Turn in the wind

Mandevilla magic

Of those vintage days.

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

 

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