The Weaving

photo credit: Neal. The Smell of Bokeh. via photopin (license)

Spun light glistens welcoming a gossamer dawn.
There is birdsong if you listen within the forest’s heart
While the breeze plucks at the threads of the weaving like they were the strings of a harp.
Green and gold glimmering, in the dawn light’s shimmering
From shadow to light. Mirroring the rise and fall of waltzers waltzing around and about the forest floor.
Dipping toes in pools of gold, those first to escape the grip of the night
Kissing the lips of this visitor emerging from out of the dark.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

7 thoughts on “The Weaving

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