The days are still dipped
with lemons, the way it’s always been,
but the air is filled with wilting dandelions.
They used to be so white and precious
and now strawberry sunsets are burning,
in a way that makes seagulls shriek.
We are b-l-o-w-ing fragile dreams
over hilltops and
over hilltops I see us, different,
in another world.
Maybe plums have always been
this crimson against the snow.
I guess we were just filled
with growing up.
About the author
Lily Smythe is a full-time literature postgraduate with a passion for reading and writing poetry. Inspired by the short stories of Paul Jennings, she is currently working on her own collection of flash fiction.
You can find her on Twitter and Medium @lilysmytheuk