Legs crossed on the lawn,
Ivy tips her absinthe glass.
She watches moss grow –
silent, creeping – up a tree,
and wears rings of finest jade.
*I’ve seen various prompts that suggest writing about a colour – so many times have I seen this, I can’t link to them all. “Pick a colour and write a poem about it” – that’s a pretty standard prompt. So, I’ve personified the colour and written a tanka about her. It’s not big and it’s not clever, but it’s a poem.