Blue Mists Of Evening

The blue mists
Of evening’s closure
Blurs vistas
To dreams
And wending paths
Petering and smudged
Until the far hills
Clump with tree forms
To places adrift
White vapours
Plump with beginnings
And mystic spaces
In which only the shrill bird call
Punctuates.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

2 thoughts on “Blue Mists Of Evening

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