dark night
silent black shapes scud across night sky scatter wispy white clouds crackling sounds in the treetops St. Elmo’s fire high-pitched whimpers and guttural growls from the brush brooks babble backward into the ground all this is but is not it is the dark night of the soul
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Jaybird
I am retired, having worked primarily as a librarian, but have done freelance proofreading, copy editing, and book reviewing. I wrote some poetry many years ago, but decided it was bad and stopped, since I had other things to do. For the last ten...
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