5.3.2001
 
Damn, with all the rash of poetry lately... I've been feeling up to writing a bit... so here's what I have so far of an up and coming one:

November snowed along the the May born grove
white alabaster washed the ground
where dark guardians stood their roots
feather-downed flowers fell, white like lilies
tickling my face as they landed
my cheeks already pooled like bloomed rose

... and that's about it.

. . . . . posted:||1:00 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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