Comfort

falls in moonbeams,

sun dapples on water,

in the who who of nightwind owls,

asking.

It sinks with a sigh into well

worn chairs, fills the eyes of

the old dog by

the fire.

A second butterfly cinquain. It was supposed to be for Colleen’s challenge using both words this time, but I forgot to use synonyms. Third attempt below.

Threadbare

trees revive, burst

in bud-blossom pink-white,

leafing into unfurled green flags,

waving.

Well-being falls in golden sun,

in bright silver rain-splash

and the blackbird’s

sweet song.