The moon om my left The moon om my left Waiting to be glimpsed Yawns everywhere Crows surveying the trees I walk hypnozied Under dark branches That tap the moring sky. Share this: poemPrintMoreTwitterFacebookLinkedInRedditTumblrPinterestPocketTelegramWhatsAppSkypeEmailLike this:Like Loading... By Timmy Conway By profession an Accountant By ambition a Politician By nature a Poet View all of Timmy Conway's posts.
