The stars spill, upward,
Out, an iridescent fog–
Nocturnal plumage.
Night, her wings spread, glides silent,
Riding still-warm morning mist.
YOU ARE READING
Between Cups of Tea
PoetryA collection of poems I'll be trying to add to as often as possible.
1 - tanka
The stars spill, upward,
Out, an iridescent fog–
Nocturnal plumage.
Night, her wings spread, glides silent,
Riding still-warm morning mist.
