Harvest Moon
By crestfallen
A rain of golden, browned leavesshowers my soul with hope,though her throat escapes velvet a'crying,her silken hair a'flyingexalting in her moment of evocationthe spirit of the goddess,mother of seasons, and life.The harvest season lays upon my breastthe moon whispers her words of wisdom.Libra scales fall even,as earth forgives the reaping. Written September 27th, 2001 © on Sep 27 2001 03:45 PM PST 10 • 0 • 13
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"A rain of golden, browned leavesshowers my soul with hope,though her throat escapes velvet a'crying,her silken hair a'flyingexalting in her moment of evocationthe spirit of the goddess,mother of seasons, and life.The harvest season lays upon my breastthe moon whispers her words of wisdom.Libra scales fall even,as earth forgives the reaping...."