Poems ✍️
  25.08.2026
  6

Author: Herbert Nehrlich

Dew

A voice of substance,
to pierce gray cirrus clouds,
a disobedient angel
dismissed by God
for carnal acts,
'twas morning then
and cold on earth.
He sat within the shade
of ancient junipers
and dreamed.
When, silently
a dropp of silver dew
bequeathed an urgent stir
and, like a butterfly,
she came.
It was the welcome nectar
of her hot desire.


  Exile fallen Divine isolation

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