Thursday 7 December 2023

poem 228

 

From the cold 

she in bond rolled 

With hair of silk

no grey winter 

wind could spoil 


My gaze found 

an oasis in her eye

While the night

cried its lost note


From the north 

she now heads

Zephaniah 

now at rest 

dreaming of her eye 

1 comment:

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