The Sun’s Revolution

A humble zephyr wafts through,  The delicate pine,  As a soft strain murmurs from a lapping stream,  β€˜Neath the plebian cicada,  Thrums with life,  Condemned to hum its monotonous song, For its existence Eternally brief as it may be Till death seizes it wildly by the wings. High above,  Amidst echinate brambles,  The mourning doveContinue reading “The Sun’s Revolution”