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A Fall Afternoon
Cool and crisp
The scent of fallen leaves
Fills the air
The forest earth
Moist beneath my
Silk stockinged feet
my camera in hand
As i try to capture
The beauty all around
i can not resist
Impulsively taking pictures
Capturing the beauty of what i see
The clean white tops
Of my stockinged feet
Against the leaf littered ground
This poem is so beautiful that it actually creates the photograph in the imagination---making it doubly a work of art, both the description of an image and the image itself. I have waited, for some time, for you to expand your collection of poems that allude to, or describe, stockings, and you have proven that your work is well worth the wait a hundred times over.
Starward