A humble wonder of nature, this dedicated sleeper.
Sleepers’ burrow
deep, dark earth,
pulse almost
imperceptible,
blood two degrees
over frost,
head tucked torpor,
trusting at the root
of things,
not even a dream
of Spring.
... and then great big hands
intrude upon this sleeper's
abode, pick him up and thrust
him into the light: there's
no wonder he predicts six
more weeks of winter. I
would, too, if I were him!!!
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Regis
hugs
Fee
The measurer of awakening, of new growth and new hope simply and elegantly portrayed. Beautifully realised.
John
intrude upon this sleeper's
abode, pick him up and thrust
him into the light: there's
no wonder he predicts six
more weeks of winter. I
would, too, if I were him!!!
An excellent poem, Juliet, well done.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.