Munted remains of a mossy moon gate.
Tangled in marigolds, it marinates.
Nighttime’s zenith, it yawns wide.
Lures our children. Echoes lies.
At first light, its maw shuts. A golden grave.

Trying my hand at limericks.

You can find this poem, and the rest for this contest on WattPad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/306715590-moon-gate

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