Guest

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Magic arrives upon the moment
It is not asked
It does not impose
But lifts a delicate step toward
Places to call home

A circle of shrubs,
Buds verging on bloom
The sole moon strung on stars and clear light
A watch glass of clear dew
The morning call
A silent prayer
Beckons it forth
It emerges,
Not a lion, but a dove
Sweetly croons
To weave a spell for one.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback