Dancing rings of gold
Visited my dreams last night
I know not what,
They tried to say
Nor where they sought to go
Yet words in amber
Fossils shaped through time and space
Continue on,
And my words too
Were carried far beyond
Eyes so tender brown
Forget me when mine turn pale
But I did not,
Wish for these eyes
Replaced by thieves in grey
Do not languish me
With your harsh and silver tongue
For I have not,
A word to say
I left them in the stone
So shall dancing rings
Come visiting you at dawn
Then listen close,
As colours come
With words I left in gold
About the Creator
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Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Moore3 days ago in Fiction
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