5d
All alone
by the noon,
softly humming
an old tune.
Eyes that drift
toward the moon,
air is still,
a bit too cool.
No more tools,
just quiet bloom—
a soul unfolding
in its room.
by the noon,
softly humming
an old tune.
Eyes that drift
toward the moon,
air is still,
a bit too cool.
No more tools,
just quiet bloom—
a soul unfolding
in its room.
