The Magical Spring Night, NaPoWriMo, Day 8

Once–

or more

(perhaps a dream that’s come before)

in the silver-glimmered light

the owl soared—

flash of white–

her cry echoing

(echoing)

in the night,

waking the sleeping to the tune

of the luminous, waxing, humming moon—

 

and so, they prance, dance–

as if in a trance

(or maybe not)

they mark their spots,

perhaps a play

to keep the evil ones at bay

like foxes against the hounds–

they stand their ground

 

Final stand?

Here–

 

hear

the sounds

the susurrus of this enchanted ground

magic swirls,

unfurls in unsuspected streams–

unless seen within a dream–

but in the rose-tipped dawn

the golden fawns gambol

on a world pristine,

alive,

breathing,

reborn newly green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I liked today’s NaNoWriMo prompt—to “write poems in which mysterious and magical things occur.”