a poem

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash

So far below the crying of the moon,
Autumnal, plaintive, for the passing year
That’s gone beyond the ken of moon or stars,
I feel beneath my feet the skin of night
Stretched taut upon the mighty bones of earth,
Where summer’s relicts gild the weary ground
And softly echo weeping that too soon
The days are dying. But behind their tears
The skin of night is sweet, her touch unmarred
By errant time. She only knows the bright




Stories of Dennett (Wildflower) & Ben (Weed) & Our Guests

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A. Christine Myers

A. Christine Myers

Lyric poet

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