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The howling wolf-
Laments at moons beguile.
The silver glint is lost, again
Behind the sunshine’s smile.

The River bending twixt the trees-
A summer that promises joy.
Waters that churn in kind remorse
Their simple hymn a coy.

The running boy-
Reaching out his hands.
Until lost too, like the moon.
Past rolling rivers and wispy trees-
They’ll be together soon.
©2008-2009 ~SaintStrufenha
:iconsaintstrufenha:

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May 23, 2008
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