Doris D Carr - A Poem Born

In twilight a living cloud of words take flight.
The wind blows high throughout the night,
Emerging from mind's dark cave.
Light comes in mysterious waves,
It flutters cold then breaks with dawns' gold.
Dipping and sipping airs' night,
Black ink turns white.
The ghost dance has been won,
The poem is done.

Doris D Carr

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