Listless Dawning
The haunt of an hour
has found my depth
In silent awe.
Every corner lost,
Every raiment fallen--
the history of a snowy mulch.
Every eye flowers
in regal pause,
Softened in this groundless
light.
What words could ever render
to another such delight,
Far from every written home
so forgotten?
Copyright © Clarence Oubre | Year Posted 2016
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