whisper where the wind blows west,
murmur as your mind-paths meld
into yellow yesterdays
by the vanishing beheld --
leaves are rustling, and soft
grows a feeling, undefined:
susurration, sounds that say,
you need not leave everything
behind
He hears the
Words she whispered once
She meant them
And really loved him
That one lost autumn
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Tagged: Tags #Project2020 La Synthèse NanoPoblano2020 Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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“susurration” is such a neat word.