Sunday, August 24, 2008

Night Owl (a poem)

Under the gauze of moonlight, whose sleep is for the sane
heaviness of silken clouds gives way to autumn rain
summer's flowers fade again, but speak with no disdain
beauty is, and is again, with strength to thus remain.

Softly, they hold your name, dear one, as butterflies alight
barely a print, left in sand, the leaver of it, unknown
like stars expressed from mountain tops, twinkling white-hot bright
shine into eternity, to home, to home, to home.

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