free verse
It rises mild, the mist
from the rain breathed
trees,
a little while ago.
It hides chaste, the mist
behind the aligned trees
as silent soldiers.
It smiles unseen, the moon
among sidereal spaces,
far away and unknown.
But here,
on the roofs,
suffering from the snow,
the end is known.
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“I write what I couldn’t tell anyone”. writer. poet, observer. Relationship. Parenting. Personal Growth. Enchanted with life. Thin Skin/amazon.com
