August 9, 2008
The sun whispers goodbye to the rolling hills and swooping valleys,
Another day is put to rest,
The cloud form a soft blanket on the tired sun,
The moon straightens up, clears its throat and waits for its cue,
The drums of thunder sound,
And then, with a graceful bow beneath the hills,
The sun disappears behind the curtain of night,
And the moon takes the stage.

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Batmansgirl said...
Aug. 18, 2008 at 10:16 pm
This is one of the best poems ever! And it's done by my best friend! Oh ya rock on Jenna!
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