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The Dusk of Mourning








In steepened meadow, wet with dew
a sigh lisps ere dawn,
entwining and adjoining;
a touch upon the morrow
of yester-years.

The mourning sky has grayed in age
faith has lifted her spell,
all that lies is but a fashion:

    of kindness renewed
        and hopes encaptured.








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Comments


  • poet2angels gold member
    July 4

    Edit | Reply
    Beautiful!
    I love this. So unique and captivating...

    Lynda