Heading out to find the setting sun, you can see that we were a bit too late.
No matter. On the way home, I thought the cemetery looked lovely in the growing twilight.
Coincidental that we came upon the license plate?
Gravestones lean in twilight’s
breath,
soft as silence, still as death.
Moths drift low on velvet wings,
night begins its whisperings.
A single star, a lantern high—
hope flickers in the darkening sky.
2 comments:
Ginny, lovely photos and poem!!!
Beautiful pictures!
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