Day
Twisting turning; the dawn soaked clouds of mourn,
falling, falling, lone woman calls to those who heed her,
unbenounced to life, with it's rythem and sound she; woman calls.
Listen to the heartbeat of the wild, the trees flowing in their effortless dance,
the sun radiating life to she, Earth. Earth with her ground,
her nectar to the flower we call life; living, breathing,
walking, talking.
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Day, which
was posted on Feb 15, 2012 by
Patches.
This is a collaborative poem.
About this poem
"A description of day."
This poem is filed under:
Imagery
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