Night hurries, sashaying swirls off her inkish steely veils,
Delayed, despairs, laps marshes and mead, for a rendezvous in the hills,
Eager, breathless, stirring all that she brushes with her longings,
Seeing her arrive, the Full Moon bows low, almost touching the hills.
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It was an outstanding poem. Rich in imagery and style. Nice thoughts. I liked it very much. I voted it 10. Kindly read and also vote for my poem 'A humble complaint' on page 2.