very nice creation of atmosphere.
The shifting, pale tendrils lie close to the ground And embrace the trunks of the pines; And the braches of pines stir forward and back In misty and wispy lines. The garden is silent except for the sounds Of moisture as it falls to the grass; And all is in darkness and shadow deep Allowing the moonlight to pass. The slow moving softness of the earthbound cloud Gently covers all blossom and moss, And the pines sing a sigh and whisper a tear For the sadness of Moonlight's loss. |
Comments 1 to 3 of 3
|
Comments 1 to 3 of 3
|