Moonrise to sunrise, the hours are pinewood to a spark
Up in flames,
the minutes
my soul
The wings of dawn are unwelcome.
The bird’s song is mourning
the loss
while the ashes burn, longing.
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Author:
BarefootDeb (
Offline) - Published: February 16th, 2023 11:57
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
An emotive write with a really fine first-line metaphor as in "the hours are pinewood to a spark" - welcome to M.P.S. and I look forward to reading more of your work Deb.
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