Our song the sorrow haunts.
The stifled breeze hangs,
Haunted.
Flutters the wing of a hawk,
Bating.
Fretful.
Piercing gold eye,
Sees through and beyond,
To our destiny.
Calling, evocatively,
From sunbeam shafts.
Golden, mesmerised,
Burnt copper too.
Shifting endlessly.
Rustling boundaries
Tithed to each other.
The stifled breeze hangs,
Haunted.
Flutters the wing of a hawk,
Bating.
Fretful.
Piercing gold eye,
Sees through and beyond,
To our destiny.
Calling, evocatively,
From sunbeam shafts.
Golden, mesmerised,
Burnt copper too.
Shifting endlessly.
Rustling boundaries
Tithed to each other.
Our sorrow, is a song, the tune unheeded yet.
NOTE: Lynda is one of my Poetry Friends.
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