Under the Moon
Above, a full moon dances with billowing clouds,
and a rusty old gate creaks open for me,
as I glide past ancient gnarled trees, reaching
their tangled branches into the night.
A winding road is beckoning me to come,
and I glide past angel statues, weeping
their sadness over the maze of tombs,
and I drift ethereal under the full moon.
I have no fear as this has been my home for,
a hundred years . . .
_____________________________
January 5, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Under The Moon
Copyright Protected, ID 16-840-154-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to, Contest 225
sponsor, Brian Strand
Ninth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2016
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