The Brook In the Paddock
Icy black silk, but no, not quite
More on like a sinuous pupil
Deep and cool
Betraying only its surface
Slipping between banks of ivory cream
Frothy, bubbling pearls hang from its lips
And tiny tawny soldiers from ivory stand
In sweeping magnificence
So calm and stony
One flowing sheet of inky ebony
Strikingly beautiful and proud
Copyright © Misty Hunter | Year Posted 2008
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