
Milk bottle fog,
opaque glass
cloaks wisps of grass.
Treble monotone
bass and baritone
lonely voices harp.
“My rocks are sharp.
All life is dear.
No channel here.”
On still brine
no sun will shine.
Milk bottle fog.
Imagination is the faculty through which we discover the world around us, both the world we see, and that other unseen world that hovers on the fringe of sight. Love, joy and laughter, poetry and prose, are the gifts through which we approach that complex world. Through the gift of imagination we have stepped into an ever flowing river where the realm of Faerie touches Middle Earth.
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