by: Thomas Albritton
Thomas Albritton returns to The Margin with two stirring poems to commence the week….
WISPS
As the mist of the morn rises
The slight sounds of nature awake
Burning crisp in the dawn.
Slowly moving is the wisp of the cool dawn air
The mirrored reflections appear upon the clear waters
The day has arisen in that most spectral vision
The splendors of mountains are cast in this wonders’ play as the wisps sleep for the day.
Dust
As we gaze upon the images of the past, listen closely
Do you hear?
The creak of the boards as we wander through
The smells of a time long forgotten
Do you see?
Can you smell?
The collecting dust holds the story as it gently falls upon the ruins of these times of long ago glory.
