Dried spindles fall
Into a brown silence
Like brittle rain.Soft earth underfoot,
Cobwebs glistening
On a bed of pine needles.Eden in the dark.
YOU ARE READING
Prickmedainty Poetry
PoetryFor all those who broke their glass slipper and still search for stars in the shards.
In the Grove
Dried spindles fall
Into a brown silence
Like brittle rain.Soft earth underfoot,
Cobwebs glistening
On a bed of pine needles.Eden in the dark.