In shadows cast by moon's soft light,
Where weary souls seek solace in the night,
Anya glides, a whisper in the breeze,
Her touch, a caress, so light and fair.
She finds the lost, their burdens vast,
With gentle words, their worries past.
Her voice, a song on moonlit air,
Mends broken hearts with tender care.
Though darkness lingers, hope takes flight,
As Anya's smile brings healing light.
She walks this path, her purpose true,
Until her soul ascends in view.
About the Creator
Yasemin Yiğit Kuru
an engineer who loves reading and writing
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The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Piercing the soul, beautiful poem
Soulful poem!