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Click hereWeary but restive,
she presses on,
wood smoke sharp
in her throat.
Beneath the Travel Moon,
a canopy of crimson
cloaks the hunter,
unwilling to rest
lest she be moored too tightly
in June
when the sea breeze beckons
and lands unseen
entice her exploration.
Her heart cannot be
confined by traps
of brick and stone.
Green-gold autumn
evenings are made for drifting
when the Hunter’s Moon glows
on the waves.
tou have missed this poem, great internal rhyme, beautiful images, good work TRH, enjoyed bery much :)
This poem is mentioned in the New Poems thread on the bulletin board
really lovely writing and pacing here.
The only weak spot:
~Her heart cannot be
confined by traps
of brick and stone.~
just too dull to be mixed in with the flowing free images in the rest of the poem.
save this and when that perfect verse comes...add it
And this will be a beautiful work