Pull up a chair and relax. This is where I write, with my eyes. Stay as long as you like. You'll find me, where the wild roses grow ♥
through morning’s rain-swept eyes
in the making
I love this.
Reblogged this on Scotia Nightpoetry and commented:
Monet..that’s what I want..
drowning in white embrace
the irises race the rainbows
that cling to a memory
of morning’s dew
in the grass,past the birthplace of thunder
and in a slow misty saunter
the afternoon clouds begin
counting down the rain
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