It is late, the sky is black slate, coal
a desolate moon glow, cold
this silent world flecked with tiny lights
diffused amid the softness of clouds
the night, only a blooming dawn
a field of stars that come.
poetry & things
It is late, the sky is black slate, coal
a desolate moon glow, cold
this silent world flecked with tiny lights
diffused amid the softness of clouds
the night, only a blooming dawn
a field of stars that come.