Like the river flows, whispers persist.
Deep throughout long and tall.
High as the mountain, in darkest night.
Embedded with life its own heart.
Touched with a love story.
Depth holds my hand even void.
I sense the longing and feel moon.
As it calls in the night to drink wine.
Please don't talk of dwindling.
Or never say someday departing.
Where will a sun enchant a moon?
Because their whispers from far, is being…
© cat hodgson
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Comments about this poem (Diminishing Attitude by Cathy Hodgson )
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