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last night the stars fell.
not all of them, but enough
to paint the sky in
flickering threads
of watercolor firelight
that disappeared into the
midnight breeze.
i counted almost thirty before i gave up
and called it a night.
every now and again the quiet can be so beautiful
we cannot help but to drink it in.
Copyright © MMXVII Richard D. Remler
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem