Lines written for #FromOneLine 271
When the Sidhe*
Stopped dreaming
All that remained was
Whirring of machines
Clicks and whispers
To feed artificial brains
That could never imagine
How sweet the smell
Of the first rain
Or the mystery
In a forest trail
Ah! The crunch of leaves
Beneath tired feet.
*Sidhe: fairy people of Irish folklore, said to live beneath the hills.
Blue Pen Strokes 