Churning, whirring, refusing to settle
for a new day; convincing itself it’s not that time
quite yet.
Not ready for things to come.
Preferring the solitude of a zone
still sleeping.
Copyright owned by The Silly-Savvy Salopian, January 2020
Image by Wolfgang Claussen from Pixabay
Silly Poem – Waiting
Silly Poem – Late is Late
Silly Poem – Nurse My Toe
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Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian
Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.
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