The Moon was knitting a white net all night.
The net entangled all branches of naked trees,
The goddess sang a lullaby above
deep sleeping earth to bring to giants dreams.
The cover had been rising to the song,
which spread in air like a charming hiss.
It brightly sparkled in sun rays at the dawn.
It sparkled and melted, turning into beads.
The light of rhinestones pierced November gloom.
The day was coming, breathing with sun warmth.
It went, reflecting in white frozen pools.
It went and crushed them into icy crock.
by Thea Ariss
03.10.2025
The Moon was knitting a white net all night
© Copyright: Тея Арис, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125110302289
Свидетельство о публикации №125110302289
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