The Morning Spell
Birds sing the first song of the day
Quiet solitude
like a hollow mood
sooths
Rays display various shades and hues
Wet dew
Crisp!
Fresh elixir
Bliss
Light mist
sniff
Can u smell it?
A new beginning
The Morning Spell
Birds sing the first song of the day
Quiet solitude
like a hollow mood
sooths
Rays display various shades and hues
Wet dew
Crisp!
Fresh elixir
Bliss
Light mist
sniff
Can u smell it?
A new beginning
cynthiakehl commented on The Morning Spell
06-26-2009
07/18/2009
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
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