poetry & things

Under a Springtime Sky

Moss and moon-green Spring

fully bloomed, the dogwood trees

our breath mingles ever in the ethers

a place where sweet the soul will dwell

and shall not die nor wither

Crocus flowered violet grass

scented sweet pink hyacinth

yellow primrose metamorphosis

inhale we drink and can never think

only lose ourselves

deep in fragrant amnesia

Until beyond this meadow

when day recedes into night

and the scarlet sky of purple blues

is swallowed once more by

the molten, pearl moon

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