THE HOUR OF NIGHT BUTTERFLY by Ann WoodThe hour of night butterfly
Comes again in the evening, darkens,
the crickets start their own song.
The moon ghostly rises.
Stars shine on a background of heaven.
I fall asleep,The leaves are rocking.
smells of hot summer.
In the ethargic are the flowers,
Sparkled like pure gold.
Two small night butterfly,
dance their gentle dance.
Of their love do not wonder,
Their universe does reverance.
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2017-08-08 at 20:54
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