In The Wee Hours
- Week Night Wine Drunk

- Jan 15, 2024
- 1 min read
The stories are written in in the wee hours
By the moon and the setting sun
By candle light and fire side
And by rivers as they run
Inspired by the cracks in mountains
In rocks and in the stone
Words whisper in the breeze
That blows through out my home
By the soft gentle breath
Of my son as he sleeps
And on the tears shed by
Broken hearted woman who weeps
They come in the most unusual way
To enter heads at end of day
When sleep has all but taken mind
On edge of reality a story will find
Its way to a pen and a page and a hand
To tell tales and poems magnificent and grand
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