Oh, they weave in, out

Hazy remnants binding me

Etherial threads

But, I have scissors whetted

Cleansed by night air, by starlight

Mini Troubadoura 2019 (uj)

I saw a star slide down the sky, Blinding the north as it went by,
Too burning and too quick to hold,Too lovely to be bought or sold,
Good only to make wishes on And then forever to be gone.

Sara Teasdale, 1884 – 1933

Please visit my busking and poetry blog at theminitroubadoura.com