A time of restlessness, at the end of her day, slowly she breathes…
A lazy spring breeze barely moves the leaf-laden tree,
As it begs so hauntingly, "Come and play in me."
How old must one's ghost child be to ignore the plea,
To hide in re-breathed man cooled air
Just an old woman in her dim, sad lair.
Dancing the unseen current fades as a pastel dream,
Screaming laughter
...
Recent Comments
