Trees sway in rhythm with the wind,
water slaps stone.
Cricket chirps fold into the mist.
A gray moon hunts these hills
for the last faint breath of a fading light.
Evening Rain
09 Sunday Jan 2022
Posted poems
in09 Sunday Jan 2022
Posted poems
inTrees sway in rhythm with the wind,
water slaps stone.
Cricket chirps fold into the mist.
A gray moon hunts these hills
for the last faint breath of a fading light.
Beautiful! Happy New Year, Paul Sutt
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Thanks! All the best to you.
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Greetings and apologies if of no interest (that perennial plea from the self-plugger!). “Winst
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Nice one!
Sent from Yahoo Mail for iPhone
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