The Secret Moor
Faint is the knock on hearts lonely door,
where dark whispers come soft on a sleeping moor.
A baying of banshees drifts aimless on the moonless night.
Love ever unspoiled on silent winds is joined in flight.
Angel’s unseen watch as the drama of life below unfolds.
Specters long forgotten search ancient bogs seeking their soul.
On the moors in phantom dreams, yesterday touches tomorrow.
Today only drifts as lonely hearts taste the bitters made of sorrow.
J. Allen Wilson © 11/4/2010
(((HUGS))) love and continued prayer, Karla.
God bless,
Lew