a little rhyme starts from nought

the hand plays a tune
with a rhymth so distinct
that reveberates through the room
echoing through the woods
like the song of a nightingale
in the peaceful night sky
so soothing and sound
yet coy and abashed
floating throught the thin wisps of smoke
and rising into the twilight

with the twinkle of an eye
Alas the night has come to pass
and the sleeping child awakes
in the chrome serene morning
lay the dew drops on the grass
with trickles on the panes
yet the iridescents of light
radiate from that tiny drop of splatter
spreading into the sombre morning

and from the far horizon
the sun sets its rays
upon the lush greenery
slowly but steadily
tender then swiftly
awaken the land
calling the young

as they harken to its call
the day breaks in
and life springs from the soil
never believed
like the trinklets of joy
where the birds soar high
blinded in daylight
and the trees fold out green
just there where the mists of the night used to lay

Blue, is her raiment
like the clothe of the sky
and black, is her hair
like the coals of the night
brooched by the gold of her mantel
and the incessant stream of gold
that sparkles upon the advent of light
Yet grey are her eyes
solemn and still
unmoved,
like the shadows of twilight

posted by iambrianfu [ 1:46 AM ] |