Cold embers. Old shadow selves forgotten.
Yet orange - is the color of hope.
An orange sun shouts “tag” to mountain peaks.
In sunrise mist a deer ascends a slope,
Blue mountains uncover their trees,
They twist and yawn,
Green branches stretch their twigs.
So nibble, nibble, nibble tame horse.
Your roan mane curls – the sleepy lake reflects.
Two eyes that burn the morning fog – for me
Sleek body, raging roars awake the birds.
I’d ride this tiger barefoot on bareback,
To leave you orange paw prints
For your songs.
Orange
© Copyright: Athena, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103070200439
Свидетельство о публикации №103070200439
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