Minutes within MidnightA Poem by eglantineThe darkest lines are thought this time of night.
The trees--the blinds --the sidwalk, the streets
with all of their curtained windows --they all know
light is not wanted here.
The dark moves at a metronome pace, swings the wind beneath the white-gold moon.
The leaves chatter so hard they break from its jaw. © 2012 eglantineReviews
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9 Reviews Added on February 22, 2012 Last Updated on June 22, 2012 |

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