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!!!
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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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.