Tuesday, June 21, 2016

River bleak

Gray desolate
pitter patter spit
cold and crimson
on the breeze
twilight lit

forget me nots
lining the river
as the rapids rise
tiny pedals shiver
how to get across
impossible it is -

doves do not
make nests over here
the crows only jeer
in fear

N.M. Rose Guedes

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