Dusk
It is dusk...
and the birds talk
of the joys the days hold
and the cold of the night ahead.
They whisper to the sun
as he slides along the white bark
over the roof then hill
Into the cold
Now it is night...
Reason for writing:
Sometimes an idea just grabs your hands and makes you write, this was the first of a highly productive night where ideas flowed from somewhere through me.
Birth sign: Not entered
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