Short December End Journey of Pensive Minds

Misted window
Looking over green, dark river
Rolling hills, tipped by stone homesteads
Bleak winter ‘noon
Trees flail limply to ancient elements
The sound, the music cuts none
Calmed skyrims, embrace the dying year

Lone hike on river path, to where?
Lay here, burden lifting, once and for all, the darkness may take you away

I wonder how winter shall be
And the spring glow never seen
With a light never felt
So very old as the night
Tears from the eyes so cold
Tears from the eyes so green as the meadow

Never to be whence no evil dwells
This night is so beautiful, we need her as the day.

Ian V. Seymour ©2011

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