eclipse Posted October 14, 2021 Share Posted October 14, 2021 Night swallows the Last spoonful Of moonlight. The Genie in the bottle has Guests, geese with Black heads Rest then sleep under A hawthorn tree, red Berries. Dense Interweaving of branches, Hidden histories of Wildlife. Winter winds are Untempted by Pearson Parks empty bandstand, They understand the biography in music in The sounds of interiors Of holly tree. Melting ice gradually Releases hawthorns Reflection on Pond waters, like Wishing well releasing Its spell to those who Are receptive. The wind blows rain like a carousel of tears Around the conifer Which of the four seasons Will tell riders their time Is up, conifer has an Extended pass, persistent Identity. The sounds of Glass crashing as Workmen dismantle The Victorian conservatory, Like last notes to leave A music box, clouds Are locked in Position as if in Grief. Wood of alder Tree turn red when cut. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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