The Midnight Shores
The gurgling stream,
leading a straggling line
of cattails
down into the valley
to circle our sleeping village
nourishing bright slashes of
golden rod
slaking the thirst of ponies
shaking out their manes
in moonlight
tickling the toes of wild children
splashing in the shallows
dousing out the dying embers
of the last campfire
carressing the form
of a maiden
swimming at midnight
out to meet a warrior
in a white canoe.
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