to the naked eye,
the last, pale fingers of mist
slowly ungripping the silent sky.
The moon cautiously peeks out
from behind the protective
mountain peaks,
vaguely warm from the
long since set sun.
The dance begins as the last
stars dot the sky
with their pin point lights,
in harmony with the soft-yellow
eyes, watching over the forest.
The trees sway in a slight breeze,
coming from the looming mountain,
standing broad and dim
and singing a slow lullaby,
like the mother of the whole horizon.
And one by one, the crickets begin
their soothing symphony,
weeping and laughing, the actors
in a great opera known only
to its peaceful inhabitants,
living far away, where
the disastrous filth of the city
never reaches.
As sleepy eyes open, the blossoms
grow and caress the air,
exposing their gentle, sweet aromas to the
wild life around them.
The grasses begin to dance,
rustling with life as little
creatures hide away from the
frightening sounds of the night.
The land is so silent, yet noisy
and overflowing with life.
The night of wishes has begun.
Adding your comment:
here's another good poem from ya , really nice and well done! keep on writing
3 old applause
