Posted in Poetry

marrow, whisper, porcelain

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Into the silence of the gentle night

The soft breeze of the distant forest

Blows sweet to the leaves of the trees

Which begin to flutter in the gentle wind

Whispering to the lunar beauty alone

Listening to her susurrus of chaste heart. 

Author:

I write stuff of my interest that does not interest anyone in my blog. No grammarians, no copy editors, no marketers, no cynics are welcome.

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