Poetry Blog by mollie learmonth (slumber)
slumber (Remove filter)
On a hot summers eve close to the twighlight,
the marble of crimson came rolling down past sight.
Misty clouds coating the ever changing sky.
birds whistle their last tune before slumber calls them.
Stars begin to light.
Soon it will be night.
Close to the twighlight.
Monday 17th August 2015 8:03 pm