Wordle 102

he climbed from the pit
and rested against his staff

gently brushing the dirt away
he seemed lost for a moment

not in thought
but in some other place

a place with locks
a place after

then he looked at the words
written on the parchment

they glowed in the light
from the moon

pulling items from his pockets
he began placing them

the pit filled
with stones

from three different
mountain peaks

powders of oak bark
and blackberry skins

locks of hair
from the living

and the dead
the calls of thrushes

caught by magic
in bamboo flutes

and last
drifting down

like blue snow
petals of hydrangeas

/ / /

This poem was written to wordle 102 at The Sunday Whirl, and is for day twelve of the Poem-a-Day Challenge/NaPoWriMo.

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