By white chef
The moon, rises to the tune, of the hooting owls. Each drop of water over the land, contributes to the melody, which has no beat. No tapping of the feet, only the beauty of silence, followed by the whisper of life. Each holds the heart, of one person, as they drift to sleep, and their minds, are calmed by the song . Written February 3rd, 2002 © on Feb 03 2002 07:06 AM PST 0 • 13
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"The moon,..."
Author:white chef
Source:AllPoetry
"The moon,..." by white chef
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