The Forest Napper


Lost in a garden of photographic imagination

kibitzing with lichens and molds

settling in with a bed of wild green grasses

with funguses growing in his folds


He tried to rise with foot in the ground

a shoulder and elbow submerged

but a head of green grasses abound

his river water kidneys were purged


yet winter came and froze up his eyes

no longer glistening with a tear

he yanked on his arm and a leg

and finally sat up on his rear


But part of the woods he shall always be

And he turned over and lay back down

Sinking in past his shoulder again

Once again at peace with the ground


Barbara Blackcinder

About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a hunger for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and especially mine when you read those from me.
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