Oh, they weave in, out
Hazy remnants binding me
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