The Morning Spell
Birds sing the first song of the day
Quiet solitude
like a hollow mood
sooths
Rays display various shades and hues
Wet dew
Crisp!
Fresh elixir
Bliss
Light mist
sniff
Can u smell it?
A new beginning
The Morning Spell
Birds sing the first song of the day
Quiet solitude
like a hollow mood
sooths
Rays display various shades and hues
Wet dew
Crisp!
Fresh elixir
Bliss
Light mist
sniff
Can u smell it?
A new beginning
cynthiakehl commented on The Morning Spell
06-26-2009
07/18/2009
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.
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