Moment

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    Poem Commentary

    what we know, what we feel...never the twain shall meet.

    Moment

    quick upon the night there comes a wind

    whistling among whimsical bare willows,

    blowing tunes around the reedy cattails,

    dancing with the dry and nestled leaves.

    silver clouds hasten across the smiling

    Cheshire face of the moon, shining pale

    from a velvet sky smooth as licorice ice.

    a puff cools your face, arouses the blood

    into your cheeks, then it’s playfully gone

    as if an angel’s touched your melancholy.

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    ragib commented on Moment

    11-13-2012

    would you please add me as your friend and make comments on my poems.

    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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