Gossamer

whence they come
mine tender thoughts?
adrift a gossamer breeze
of heaven’s hand,
or, perchance a summer moon?
what pokes and prods
relentless stirs
arouse me turn a loon?
me thinks tis them
come sure of mindless pen
danced of parchment Swoon

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *