The pale wings of dawn
shroud my sorrow.
Gossamer thin with the
faint scent of iris.
There is sanctity to
their silence.
A dormant ache that
sings only for the shadows.
love · poem 6
The pale wings of dawn
shroud my sorrow.
Gossamer thin with the
faint scent of iris.
There is sanctity to
their silence.
A dormant ache that
sings only for the shadows.