Tuesday, March 14, 2017

The Thousand Cranes (Day 55)

She'd climb 
     the ancient 
          leaning hedges 
to look 
at the thousand 
     made of curious 
          gray paper 
(she'd been told 
they once were red, 
but grew so old 
that all their color 
     had bled out, staining 
          the dried leaves
          on the ground below 
               a dangerous pink).
Busily engaged, 
in discourse with her secrets,
she didn't hear 
     the quarter moon—
          who hated to interrupt—
until he whispered, 
a gentle breeze 
in her left ear, 
It's time, it's time. 

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

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