Weariness creeps through muscle and worn bones;
the day nears its end, moonlight glimmers;
my quilted bed beckons softly
but I am oblivious
to its cottony charms.
My mind is at work–
crafting lines, words
a poem——-
shape, form
done

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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2 Responses to

  1. brenda w says:

    Soft, beckoning . . . bedtime. : ) Excellent stone!

  2. Louise says:

    Lovely. 🙂

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