Beams of moon light stream
across the barren field
Caressing, windswept
lines and contours, with a feel
Of expectation and for loss
- grazing spirits to be reconciled
By a crying prayer for the
sunlight’s final exile.
Dark empty fields will again
– someday, prosper and flourish
As young lovers walk
across the green abundance to nourish,
As the promising sunrise
calls prosperity to an early affair -
For misfortune and
fortune are the same words; in prayer.
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