Under the Moon: NaPoWriMo

 

 

Under the moon, I sat bereft,

we’d talked of life and love together,

you took my hand before you left,

gave to me a downy feather,

it once lay close to a beating heart,

I touched it softly, that snowy white,

flexible, but strong, sharp like a dart,

I wonder if the owl once loved–before he took flight—

does his mate cry for him now, in the loneliness of night?

 

 

This is for Day 9 of NaPoWriMo. The prompt was to write some sort of nine verse poem. This is my attempt at a Spenserian Stanza.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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