The End of Day
A wind
Soft sweetness on its curl
Teases
The towering pines
To swaying
‘rocking
On its roiling breath
Whispers
Of a dinner
Spent in calm
Of beauty
Slipping
Twixt its gusts
A metronome
Of tortured flags
Taps
The end of day
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2025
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