W. Elliott Greig
Of
sky's
blackness
without clouds,
blatantly white moon
glaringly overlords this earth,
until a long and straight contrail, gives its thin salute.
Weave
on,
down thru
summer's gulch
and be perfection
thou damsel fly of by gone youth.
Bio
I am in NYC and am 70+ and used to write poetry long ago.
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