The last of us

The last of us
meander in rolling hills
by the misty stream
tinkling round slate rocks.
A doll size cottage
hewn of ancient limestone
silhouetted in rainbow flares
creeks and rumbles forlorn.
Withered lace murmurs languid
framed by dark embrasures.
We enter the void
over a parquet threshold
to greet mirrored visions
in ever rewinding portals
that unveil the stories 
of our dreams unlived.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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