A Wistful Muse
The night it seems, a wistful muse
as evening’s peach begins to bruise
with shadows stretched in brooding streams
A wistful muse, the night it seems
A mystic swath, transcending prose
Rewrites the night with grand compose
The Milky Way, a bardic froth
Transcending prose, a mystic swath
A spell is cast, when light has fled
Unwound from angst of unknown thread
Then spun in words of splendor - vast
When light has fled, a spell is cast
Swap Quatrain
14 Jun 2020
Copyright © David Mohn | Year Posted 2020
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