Pickled stars hang on silver threads in the sky
Swaying lightly to the tune
Of forgotten dreams.
Sorrow fills the air as mist does to tears
And lines the bare sky line
With hues of purple, blue, and a touch of black
While larks sing to the moon.
The whistling of the wind playes with the trees
And the forest dances to the tune of the night.
Streaks of light leap across the sky
And embrace the sky above.
Swirling colours of green and pink
Embellish the world with rays of light
Stroking the stars...
Or so that's what it seems.
The moon enjoys this little show
And laughs along.
Slowly the light fades
And the forest is left
To the waking of the sun
So full of golds and reds.
And as the day begins
The light embraces the sky above
And holds the world
Within its hands...
This was actually originally called "Pickles", why? I have no clue. I think it was the stars at the beginning...anywho, did anyone notice that I write about night a lot? Yeesh...
Va pensiero sull' ali dorate...
[This message has been edited by chasing rain (edited 08-08-2001).]