The wind stirs outside my open window.
He picks up the leaves and offers his hand for a dance.
The leaves dark dresses scratch against the ground as the twirl.
The wind sings his song, a song of woe and joy.
The moon blesses their dance with her light,
Her hair stings down and around them.
A beautiful dance to send the dead off to sleep so the earth may bring anew life.
The winds drought by the fall will return, like he has for thousands of years.
He will ask the leaves for a dance and she will say yes, like she has for thousands of years.
YOU ARE READING
Little Things
Krótkie Opowiadaniathis is simply a book of small(sometimes long) poem like things.
