poetry, prose, writing tips on what works for me
Little sparkles of dew had gathered at her feet
And a snails trail led her thoughts on
With her eyes in pursuit of what dawn meant to it.
Beneath the full moons glare
Not a howl; even a screech was to be heard
And then a sharp sting on her thigh; unwelcoming.
Nature’s bosom was heavy
Silence its load to carry
And gift to present
It’s nothing she thought; sleep on
Till the heavy steps she heard
Sleep had eluded her…