Hallow Eve
Mesh wisps of tattered webs
Mist of ghost hair floating
Soaring over haunted branches
Rising up in a midnight mind
To forsaken village haunts
Till dawning light first appears
And Morning minds return
Hallow Eve
kpeery09 commented on Hallow Eve
12-18-2009
kmooney commented on Hallow Eve
12-11-2009
knight4696 commented on Hallow Eve
12-10-2009
Musicmynded1 commented on Hallow Eve
12-04-2009
Pensil commented on Hallow Eve
10-14-2009
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
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