goldenlangur Posted May 16, 2009 Share Posted May 16, 2009 Late night - the gate glistens without a creak. No, I'm not keeping a watch for you. The wreath in the Persimmon grove now hangs withered. Not even the young crows in their faltering flight through the trees give it a second look. The sun traverses a monsoon-laden sky to its autumn descent, and the orange blossoms bend with promise. But I won't be waiting. I shall fill this speckled blue goblet with the swelling moon and drink it. But not in your name. goldenlangur Quote goldenlangur Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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