Midnight on the open moor.
A nocturnal walk on windswept raven hills,
Rolled out like velvet carpet.
Stirrings of freedom ignite and awaken.
I'd walk that velvet carpet on the stroke of midnight quite Emily Bronte-like, if I could, (my obsession with moors). I imagine them to be sort of like this.
Friday, November 12, 2010
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