winter midnight moons of storms
some thoughts fall into a drizzle, a trickle or a drop
what happens if they stop?
or cease, better yet to end?
the weeping willow cries for a reason
rubies, diamonds, sharp as stone
pierce the quite night like a knife
the yellow moon bleeds as the clouds
burst into tears
image of imagination going wild
the dragon breathes flowers instead of fire
what is written could be set in stone
these are just things that come to mind
when a hundred impossible things could happen in a day