Deep Poetry for Friday, January 7, 2011

At first light nothing is quite clear The shadows remain the fog lingers The dew has touched the ground As the sun kisses the horizon The wind brushes through the trees Silence lingers momentarily before the first bird sings in perfect praise... Sign in to see full entry.

fate is ever pleasant or fickle chance casts changes fortunes pickle grim reaper fells life tickle with single sweep of well timed sickle... Sign in to see full entry.