A spectral whisper in harmony with the wind
Floating like foam in the rapids
Driftwood, time worn and pressure smoothed
Carried gently to shore by forgotten waves
Armored bark and shining finish stripped away
By the ever flowing current of life
The ghost in the corner
Unseen and unheard
The lone wolf at night
Who runs alone and feeds the birds
As a feather falling gently to the ground
Plunging to the sea from Icarus’ wings
To eddies and ripples, disturbances of little import
Alone but free
About the Creator
Willow Walker
Probably the worst poet since the Vogons, but I like to think my prose is a bit better
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Naice