FIELDS OF RAIN
| The sky grows dark in fields of rain, A platinum gray just tinged with black; The stormclouds trail their smoky stain As they creep 'cross the gold Earth's back. The raindrops meet with gilded grass, And tint its tips with inky jet; The fields paint sky in single pass As lightning spreads its vibrant net. It laces clouds and spikes the trees, And withdraws from its masterpiece. (1998) |
THE GOLDEN COMPASS
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