The sky tonight reminded me
of moonstone -
mistily diaphanous,
inscrutable, unclear...
The leaves were rustling as when
Apollo pursued Daphne,
and she, transmuted into laurel,
tantalised his ardent ear.
The eucalypts stirred lightly
in the breeze as if they sensed
you near - then I realised
they were sighing, downcast
that you'd not appear.
Tonight the sky reminded me
of moonstone,
of a glaucous eye;
the trees whispered
among themselves
as if afraid I'd overhear.
Moonstone
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103113000680
Свидетельство о публикации №103113000680
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