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
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
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.
View all posts by The Silly-Savvy Salopian