At the ancient homes of velvet-furred ferrets.
A wet rain ponders black and fleeting laughter,
As the sunset quivers in the pond's water.
My heart aches for dancing - not weeping to the moon.
As the wind dwells in frozen anguish from wildfire.
A field of blue thistle emanates purple mountains.
As the pond reflects the dew drops of barren laughter.
Shall not the morning hold meetings on the home's demise?
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Be always safe,
Karen