black
crayon
The
winter's spirit and advancing maid
above
the landscape fled before nightfall
her
hand extended to regale ahead
a
glass of red and her betrothal call.
The
molecules of mist descended on
the
surface of the pond where shadows welled
the
lady's features made from black crayon
and
glancing sacrosanct, my eyes beheld.
The
shadows of the field surrounded me
her
bridal veiling o'er my ghostly mast,
a
standing versus the horizons tree,
diffused
its branches fore the gray contrast.
2015-07-28,
© Giorgio A.V. All rights reserved
(Iambic
pentameter)
