Veil of Despair
The crying of a lonely night,
pine's branches drooping moonlit white
as sighing winds touch heaven’s gate,
without the need to stand and wait
for every roaming rainclouds' stare,
she needs to ask the why or where
in moments when pain veils her face
so sullen, yet so full of grace;
as her swan wings clutch twilight's hues
dripping tears from November's dues
yet, eyes open their crystal plumes
with hopes of flowers' newborn blooms
©
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Contest: Joyce Johnson's The Rhyming Game
By: nette onclaud
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2011
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