Morning fogA Poem by m.s.early
The trees were disjointed until the fog
Creeping closer to forest center Now fingers towering over a palm of mist. The treetops a canopy Perched on their ancient fingertips. The morning called; Its creatures ever chirping, Awake despite limited visibility. © 2021 m.s.earlyReviews
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6 Reviews Added on February 26, 2021 Last Updated on February 26, 2021 Authorm.s.earlyVAAbout"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep." -Salman Rushdie more..Writing
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