Exodus of the Ancient Heart

I’ve seen the water banks

holding the black ripples under the moon

and the withered trees

clinging to their cracking, yellow leaves.

 

Now, in the swift summer air,

silence cannot find

us

and the music flows through the room

and the sun weaves into the heart,

webbing the petals of fall

and turning them green.

05/20/2014

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada