06 November 2011


{Sonnet attempt}

When branches bend, the tree leaves shake.
Wind brings dancing snow to my door.
Frozen and wet it slaps my face.
Drifts move from place to place.

Crackling wood hisses in sweet
lullabies and when the
warmth wraps around like a blanket
napping becomes prospect.

Deserted Pacific island.
I run into the sea.
The cat’s upon a flying cow.
Thought a whisper, “Wake now.”

Waking brings the tender embrace
of cold upon my face.

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