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Magic Hour
#WritcoPoemPrompt34
At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun.
This painting is the gift,
From sun to his beloved,
Who are only allowed to meet,
At the edge of the horizon.
From the moor as you look up above,
Moon came blushing, dancing with stars,
Accepting the fate and gift given.
They were never together,
They never will be,
They know the Destiny's game,
Still played with feather.
© SwAn❣️
#writco #writcoapp #writer #Writing #writersofinstagram #poem #sun #Moon #SwAn❣️
At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun.
This painting is the gift,
From sun to his beloved,
Who are only allowed to meet,
At the edge of the horizon.
From the moor as you look up above,
Moon came blushing, dancing with stars,
Accepting the fate and gift given.
They were never together,
They never will be,
They know the Destiny's game,
Still played with feather.
© SwAn❣️
#writco #writcoapp #writer #Writing #writersofinstagram #poem #sun #Moon #SwAn❣️
