Her scarlet nails
against the morning sun
are hailing a taxi.
A small suitcase at her foot,
she fastens the knot of her trench coat.
The yellow cab parallels her with a commotion.
Dry leaves on the pavement skitter in the distraction.
Her lips utter a deep sigh.
“To xxx, please.”
Somewhere only she knows.
lonely daffodil 
I’m imagining this set in NYC with yellow taxis swarming.
You are absolutely correct! I wrote about NYC, although I have never been there… although we have yellow cabs here in LA 🙂 Thank you for stopping by and leaving a comment. Hope to “see” you again.
Who is she? Where is she going? Why? I’m left wondering…
😀 Do you want to know?…. Sorry, all secret.
ci sono unghie di stelle che graffiano l’aurora, lasciando sangue rosso nelle nuvole
( perfetto un autore non deve mai spigare il suo testo, Poesia è guardare con i tuoi occhi l’anima di chi scrive) 🙂
There are star nails scratching the aurora, leaving blood red in the clouds
(perfect an author should never explain his text, poetry is looking with your eyes the soul of the writer):-)
I miei occhi sono come una macchina fotografica che crea un film. Grazie, Ventis 🙂
ha ha ha…maglio dimenticare Google come traduttore, che ha inserito l’ ONU nella mia risposta senza che ve ne fosse motivo! a volte però è così divertente e mi fa molto ridere
sorry
🙂 Thanks!
“Her scarlet nails against the morning sun” Awe-inspiring visual, brilliant poem!
Thank you, Arjun! Glad to hear you liked the poem 🙂
Lovely. Love the last line. 🙂
Thank you for lots of “Likes” 🙂