Sunday, June 5, 2011
When the noon stretches and yawns in dreamy languor
and gets ready to depart in a siesta like gait,
flecks of sunrays dance on the tree top
like jingling sequins on moss green leaves,
like a new bride, with bashful footfalls,
collecting the remnants of the last lingering noon,
ready to reconcile into the velvet arms of a full moon night.
On that evening
you may hear the moist voice of moonlight
since so many centuries
the voice of moonlight has been waiting for you.
posted for POETS UNITED
Posted by Celestial Dreamz