Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Upon Argent Eyrie

High silver-draped ancient crags
slip down to an ink-nectar sea
that reaches up with foam-fingers
toward the peaks at even-tide.

The sullen hoar-frost hermit moon
shakes his round curmudgeon head
and turns away with a silent scowl
while the frigid but laughing stars
dare to cajole the falcon-kindred
nesting secure upon Argent Eyrie.

Through sleepy-slits, the raptor young
peer out from within a dream-stupor
upon a multitude of glittering eyes
leering down from the night-darkness,
rodent-spectres come to haunt them
in their slumbering, or so it seems
to the little ones who, with bellies full,
shudder under the privileged warmth
of maternal-wings, and hidden there
close tight their bright and tender eyes.

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