Geraldine PoynerHayes

The Magical Land

Travelling a land unknown,
Mysterious curling fingers of wind blown.
Hair billowing ‘neath the rays of tropical sun,
Osculating skin ‘til the day is over and done.
Curling fingers of magical wind, whispering past ears,
The sweet melancholic melodies of angel’s tears.

When velvet nights caress and protect, extruding a host of heady
Perfumes the creature’s eerie call, the owl’s voluptuous hoots, and

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