The light brand pierced the soft black vale
which bled orange and pink and blue.
The bright fire drove deep into the sky breast
as the nightingale despairing cooed.
The newborn woke, alone and afraid,
to the light dancing on the wall.
And the soft warm voice of a woman lost
whispered mirth from a dream to all.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment