Sunday, August 13, 2017

Dreams Of Wood...

Dreams Of Wood...

Chopping with a swing,
Both hands,
Long axe you feel it,
Not thinking,
Mind wanders as logs split.

Winter is coming,
Your bones feel it.

Aunt Leona and Uncle Harold are too old.

Dad and I are not.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/10/2017

Rembrandt Sleeping - poem #31

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