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Hasten
If twilight birds are on the wing
we too, must leave this restful place
before the shadows fall to earth.
We can no longer hear them sing
and moonlight pushes through the lace,
preparing for a sudden birth.
Imagine what the night could bring
as silent stars caress your face
and drain you of all hope and mirth.
No telling how the dark may sting;
the sunset falls from golden grace;
remember what the dawn is worth.
Hold tight my hand and let us run,
the unheard music has begun.
Trilonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Image 4
June 14, 2023
Copyright ©
Angela Maracle
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