Song of the Ephemeral

August 19, 2016

Over the verdant hillock,

starry with daffodils:

empty cerulean skies

if not for a cloud,

Northerly lining aglow–

dissipating.

 

The brush caught fire too

beneath the sinking daylight

as it grew red-hot,

Heavens and Earth both consumed.

 

Indeed, that burning edge stillĀ flickers

while all the world around me withers.

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