Thanks Sue and Bob:
Here's the third draft!
The Wait
When he returned from the forest
she had left, like the fading moon at dawn.
Mountains stood undisturbed and seasons
endured her absence; trees survived harsh
summer and retreating rains posed no harm.
Now the winter gossips with autumnal parch,
and the mountains laugh a silent laughter,
a cave ricochets the sound of vesper hymn.
His face smiles with knowledge, as the sun
cajoles the snow to melt; she's sure to return.
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c s s
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