Pylons Poem by Beryl Stockman
Pylons
The sky is like a drive-in dream,
Pylons laced together against a watery sun,
And every angle, every corner turned,
Brings scribbled clouds washed in aethereal light,
White wool formations above a frozen land.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: clouds,together
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8/28/2026 7:26:04 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
