After dark
When sorrows are at rest.
Eyes at vest.
Drifting my lightly mange
I imagining the dark edge
Poking: The bio hatch
Siting on the mainly bench.
Foot print it makes
With the tips of claws,
Reaching her menopause.
Sudden moon cry,
Full moon: hear the wolf cry.
The moon has stepped back
Like artist gazing at work,
That points at his amazed.
Poem by: CURTIS MATEA
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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