Prompt Eleven

I will come upon the bower
where my muse resides
and citrus-scented flowers
of frangipani hide

a rivulet will wind its way
past this peaceful sanctuary
on the fronds of cattails sway
red-winged blackbirds tarry

the moon will rest above the trees
casting shadow dances at my feet
and words will flow more easily
in this romantic, veiled retreat

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