i miss falling asleep
in the meadows,
the breeze playing
games with my fingers,
the flowers whispering
gentle phrases.
i long for the moonlight
to drink in my skin
and for the crickets to
sing me a sad melody.
these words mean nothing now,
but someday i'll find my
way back to the petal fields.
YOU ARE READING
unlit matches
Poetrycome and listen to the whispers of lions and the cries of fawns.
