Vagabonds of Memory
By Richard L. Provencher
Fri, 15 Jan 2021
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5 comments
Why does early
mist smoke about the land
as grieving moths
in layers of drifting wings
and keep morning sun at bay?
I know a way
into the soul of its heart
by lifting shades
in a natural move
that can chase away
in diminishing waves
a silent retreat that allows
them to vanish
under the glare
of day’s arriving light
like vagabonds of memory.
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Comments
1 User voted this as great feedback
There's such a magical feel
There's such a magical feel to this poem - I love the idea of mist being moths'wings
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gentle and mystical, the
gentle and mystical, the moths wings makes it stick in your mind.
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