Against the lemon sky, an oak, <br />naked in delicate black lace. <br />The ancient face of the scarred moon, <br />early risen above a gable roof, is huge, <br />hanging like a battered pearl <br />among bruised peach clouds. <br />And in the west, banked purple, lit <br />as though by neon from below, <br />the sunset spreads its lurid glow.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/landscapes-collection-driving-home-in-december/
