The Seventh Star
The last star
of midnight,
the first
of morning light,
hidden beneath
the folds
of quiet,
the hush of morning,
the seventh,
the last call
of a fading night,
for the earth
still watches,
still dreaming,
in the rising hints
of a January sun,
whisper to the wind
my darling,
she murmurs
and opens the quilt of Morning,
the day
kissing her softly
and walks away
undone.
Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!
p1964km@googlemail.com
