Monday, 1 July 2013

Beneath This Moon

The door opens a crack
thin stream of light -

a spider preparing its web.

Beneath this moon
a peony flower -
the heart sings for both.

A butterfly
opening its wings in the sun,
where do we go from here?

No other visitors
the verandah is empty -
just the wind, moss 
and stones 
for company.

From some place
far distant
children's voices -
coming home again.

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