Waterloo Bridge
In London fog, the river stills. In silver sleep, it cools and fills with cobalt mist as dawn unfolds; above the Thames, the sun bleeds gold. Into the haze, it pours and pools like melting opal, liquid jewels until the brume of morning fades to prune the sky with unseen blades that slice the flaming clouds in two to frame a glimpse of Waterloo. Heather Ober This poem first appeared in Poetry Soup, an online forum. Heather Ober is an aspiring poet living in Canada's national capital region.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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January 2021
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