summer’s night

On this granite precipice
On this summer’s night
Under this waxing moon

The silken wind climbs the hillside
Rubs its belly across the grey-green trees
Surges and ebbs against me
Wrapping its fine velvet arms all around me

And yet it does not linger
Stretching . . .
reaching beyond me . . .
Running away
to dance with the green slade Sea

I stand
Lost in one thought
All my words are now but one word
And that word dances away
Dances as though caught in a river of trance
Running away to the Sea

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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