A Misty Light Poem by james watkin
A Misty Light
The hills, they float away
On this pine-scented
Of dusks, pillow-soft.
With snores, woodcutter's dropped work
A weight sent aloft.
Each hollow, it doth make
Autumn eves its own;
With a balm's savour.
For chaste souls, hidden away
Contemplation's hour.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn
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5/5/2024 4:11:29 PM # 1.0.0.1119
