why does the poet love to see the moon?
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Frozen flames pressed
between each page;
suddenly, I felt each passing note.
The painting on the wall began to breathe
gently the same colors repeated life.
I was so close; I felt every vibration
and there underneath the gloom,
the roof let in the luminance of the moon.
A memory unfolded while I held your hand,
repainting our years, a devoted love
at the heart of everything. Steam is drawn from our hands.
The canvas,
the beautiful canvas, tied by solid green-gold.
Flames-brushed each wall as aging you and me.
In perfect harmony.
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plz write name of the poem...
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