Golden,glorious sun ebbing away into twilight. Listen to the rustling..... Spirits in the dusk beginning to stir. The colours bleed fast away into shades of grey, casting a chill against bare arms. The mind envisions a chair next to the fire, in the lamplight, safety behind closed doors. The children of the morning flee night's opening hands and leave that dark embrace for the creatures of the shadows.
1 comment:
Cool Poem. i loved how you changed the colors in the text :-)
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