Resting gently upon a film delicate as the spider's silk,
the rose-tinted angels offer their peaceful tune.
A poet watches in peace with men of his ilk.
Finding beauty in the light of the moon.
A frog's cry echoes to a swan song's swoon.
Still, the angel floats idly with grace,
its romantic flair lighting the lagoon.
I grow warm and a smile graces my face.
Oh sweet waterlily, fire in my eye.
I pray for your light. Let it never die.
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 11:17 PM UTC
Resting gently upon a film delicate as the spider's silk,
the rose-tinted angels offer their peaceful tune.
A poet watches in peace with men of his ilk.
Finding beauty in the light of the moon.
A frog's cry echoes to a swan song's swoon.
Still, the angel floats idly with grace,
its romantic flair lighting the lagoon.
I grow warm and a smile graces my face.
Oh sweet waterlily, fire in my eye.
I pray for your light. Let it never die.
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