Waxing poetic
A round moon is blooming like a virgin appearing over the top of the mountain. Because there are faint floating clouds, it’s like there is no direct light. The time is around 8:30 in the evening. There is a gusty breeze. I was alone in the valley between two mountains. I recall the song I just sang with the choir. Unwittingly, there is endless happiness. I’m not a poet. I can’t write very good poems.
A round moon’s light is at the top of the hill. The night is breezy. Quiet clouds between the mountains string together into a road. I see lovers with their heads close together. The grass and bugs all sing. Happy! Don’t wait! Youth fades quickly!
Drift Hong Kong wanderer. God’s grace depends on the presence of an intentional person. I have a lovely companion in the moon’s debut. Happy! This single life is not pitiful. The moon is lovingly charming. Well, the show is forever. I want to stand here until I die.
It’s 2:00am. I’m holding a pen in my hand and wondering if there are two people like me.
No comments:
Post a Comment