Sun, Nov 24, 1:21 PM CST

The Last Dance

Writers Landscape posted on Nov 30, 2005
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Description


Slowly... Ever so slowly in soft golden light, not a breath or a whisper to mark its flight. Spinning through currents of times' ageless dance, rising and falling through rivers of chance. Reaching, Straining, Brethren caresses. Elusive in its twisting path, the leaf comes to rest on the cool, green grass.

Comments (2)


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drace68

10:09AM | Thu, 01 December 2005

I like this poem, especially at this time of year in the northern hemisphere. The cadence with the shift at "Reaching, Straining" works exceptionally well -- Dick

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FireTemptress

2:16PM | Mon, 05 December 2005

Ooooooh........ my mind followed this from the tree to the grass. I LOVE when a writer is able to elicit that kind of strong mental picture. Great job!


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