Sun on my Face

The sun on my face

The warmth of love

Missing in my heart

Adapt the body of walk

Mountain up

Mountain down

Free the soul

To float between the

Ripened scented vines

Already harvest time

At the end of August.

Thoughts of Ana.

The Muse is dead

Long live the Muse.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

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