images
By alphadog1
Wed, 27 Feb 2013
- 389 reads
3 comments
Her vibrant shadow
Curls her ghost
amid these damp
slow rusted hills.
where,
Gnarled hands
twigged and aged
stretch out,
to stroke the squalls
whose own pale echo
slowly throbs between
these now seen
cracked fingers
of the trees.
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Comments
Loved this poem, a real
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Loved this poem, a real gem.
Jenny.
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