Shadows
 

Shadows,
and a bird swoop scooping
through the glade
stoops to the stones,
light pouring into the garden
through the holes
the trees made.

The dragon rises high
for all to see
The moon
hangs still
in the cedar

I long for the friend
The friend I tried to be.


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(C) Copyright 9 May, 2000
Alice Thorpe
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