a waters whim

friendship | moonlight | poems | souls | sun | trees

in thistle worn withered wicked worried winter, hysterical eccentric
concentric troves of
groves the weeping willow grows-
the strut admired beginning transpires-the forest run amuck-every
little fawn marsh golden yellow, the lagging lack of plight into the
night better days perfumed bloom a musty musk I ask we must but enter
in confederate strongholds seek wisdom
becoming to a mortal-heaven help but be for goodness sake the bough
may break the gist and I would wonder why it takes so long to win a
hug as after all the fall will fall befell the random night you could
not lift a life so long a fright has logged the fire burning bright as
candle burns a waxing moonlight shown white as silver stars carry on,
forsaken souls receive their gold as sorrow send the sultry sun to
change estranged remorse with love to touch the hearts of everyone-
and if in turn the grounds are burnt
the shadows fall on pavement split-parched so long a summer simmered,
inclined to toast the berries off the bush-figurative study a deluge
rain came and muddied the more the body struggle aches her trouble to
the break of boast to boost the worst most
stranded, remind the early tide rebounds-take me out to sea-regard me
as a body of water set me free one weekend night in mid flight from
anger ending possibility
and I the guilty party counted on a misanthrope to wage the war to
open doors-I hid timidly to hear the angels sing a miracle lost-skip
stones a waters whim-to miss the kind heart melt
that kissed the dawn of mornings felt-I follow allowing her gentle grin
that has her in my heart again.

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