The Eve

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  • Nature

    The Eve

    In the Eve of Summer the Wind like Fire Blazes,
    Across the Waves of Wheat.
    The Burn of Summer, Roaring Heat, Hot Sand Beneath My Feet.
    I Wake to Find it All a Dream.
    As I Lay Cold in the Dead Of Winter's Eve.
    The Blistering Cold Lay on Me Now,
    As Morning Soon will Rise.
    A Shiver Strikes from Head to Toe,
    As for Summer's Eve I Cry.

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    Dancingfire commented on The Eve

    05-08-2009

    This write is really,really beautiful. I love it !

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Berutha’s Poems (2)

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