There’s a whisper in the wind.

Giggling and hymning tales of the grim,

Rolling in ashen charcoal plumes:

Indigo ink stains hiding the moon,

With embers from beyond burning bright:

Licks of velvet in the satin night.

The evening playground sets the scene,

When the sun dips down below then sea

And the devious breeze

Plays with frocks and toys at locks,

Elemental hide-and-go-seek

On empty, tar-laid streets

Careful not to get ahead of it’s gait

And disturb Earth to her wake

For mother moon scolds by squawks of crows

And in beams of blue and gold

So shutter the wind gusts

And lighter its song skips along

Lest the moons bares its face again

And decides there be only calm

~Annalise