mourning doves stir
as the sun gilds the pines
in the high mountain's shadow
darkness aligns
dawn is brittle
and its light struggles, frail
around the base of the pines
black mists prevail
yet through the thick
from the deep forest's bound
from the eastern horizon
trickles a sound
black mists shrink back
the sound joins into light
in the dark of the pine trees
four shapes gain sight
2 comments:
Thanks for visiting my blog. Sounds like you're a very creative guy.
Beautiful, is this also after a dream? Or the beginning of a story? Looking forward to part 2
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