The pale crescent
Of a waning moon
Hangs high
Like a smile
In a bright blue morning
Pure white butterflies
Wherever I look
Fluttering like promises
I meant to keep
Ah, the swallows are gathered
Down in the pastures
And wild geese, in great flocks
Wait, high on the hillside
I wonder do they know
The scent of a fox.
#CoSopoetry