Gold lining, no silver...
Sun-flooded glows...
Grey clouds soften...
One rooster crowing.
Hawk perches early.
No movement.
No shadow.
Much food.
Vapors rise from
The Delphic floor.
I will not robe
Today. Nor speak.
I will listen...
Bemused.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/storm-45/
