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Click hereThe moon is palm-crossed silver
standing liberty in sky.
Life and death matter to moon
no more than ham on rye
for everything changes anyway
from fingernail to orb,
and nothing changes anymore,
moon's mobile mask absorbs
all clouds of pride, all strife,
the rain and windy sigh
that rustles in the ghost of leaves,
and blinks in a cat's green eye.
The whisper of words softly brushing our memories and reflections ~ always you paint with a silken brush.
Your poem was mentioned on the thread
"New Poems Reviews"
thanks for the journey~
I don't know about the meter. I think it's fine, but what do I know about meter. (nothing) :)