On a weathered bench, shore-side I lingered
In a mist of cold and fog.
Pungent odors, damp wood, unearthed worms
Spoke of spring’s sluggish beginning
A sprinkle of rain fell undisturbed
On earth’s tympanic mirror
Tiny ringlets of splash dissolve and
Return again…an agonizing grace.
Oh, maestro of this mystic dance, please
Meet me face to face
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.09 seconds at 3:42am on Nov 08, 2024 via server WEBX2.