Saturday, December 14, 2013

Landscape of the Fuzzy Moon

Black sheep messy hoof prints

obscured by a fat snow cloud

their grey trail disappears

below heavy German branches

nobody wanted to leave

once it got too dark

where nothing fit

That's what happened

after the old place


nearly in the new


  1. Each word is but one or two syllables which gives the poem a nice rhythm. Some kind of transition between old and mysterious new. Like those sheep disappearing under the branches.