The moon, a silver coin in velvet skies,
Paints the meadow with its gentle lies.
Each blade of grass, a shimmering thread of white,
Reaches up to catch the pale moonlight.
A symphony of shadow, soft and deep,
Where fireflies like tiny stars do sleep.
The air is still, a hushed and silent plea,
As dew-kissed flowers breathe in ecstasy.
The willow weeps,...
Continue reading...