by R M Rilke
Harshness gone. All at once caring spreads over
the naked grey of the meadows.
Tiny rivulets sing in different voices.
A softness, as if from everywhere,
is touching the earth.
Paths appear across the land and beckon.
Surprised once again, you sense
its coming in the empty tree.
And in belated, blog-catching-up kinda news:
1 comment:
Why thank you..but you know, nothing could be filled with more wonders than Fore!
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