Quiet reply
on a damp grass dew.
Quick shadows passing,
from where the green grass blew.
Misty fog
Above the log
a cricket fondles its legs
and talks.
Frogs croak,
the mist rises slow.
The trees began to quiver lighlty,
the sun is in the sky,
filling the morning with light,
so slightly.
No burst of light
through the leaves.
It slowly emerges,
from that dark black sea.
Mist fades,
as the sky turns blue.
An owl flies over
and belows its last hoot.
The dew on the ground is all but gone.
And still I sit in the sky,
with my smile on.
2007-09-06
16:46:34
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3 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry