Thumbprints
The moon,
high above
the freezing morning,
in darkness,
partly hidden
behind
the passing clouds,
he shines
blurred, upon
the frozen earth,
along the valleys,
silent rivers,
mists, fogs
in season shrouds,
for the longest night
is approaching,
the days, hours
light, warmth
and home
echoes
of summer,
memories,
as across the sky
of stars
and fallen leaves,
in shadows still
bells a-chiming,
winter holds,
in snow and ice
life is soon
and gone,
in passing
time,
with her wings
reminding.
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
