deepundergroundpoetry.com
Unfolding
.
When the morning,
still with slumber dew
lies sleeping,
and the light
yet to be allowed to roam,
I shall unfold those memories,
made when the oven
still hot to the touch;
Placing them at the foot of the bed,
so I might be seeing you again
on my awakened return.
When the morning,
still with slumber dew
lies sleeping,
and the light
yet to be allowed to roam,
I shall unfold those memories,
made when the oven
still hot to the touch;
Placing them at the foot of the bed,
so I might be seeing you again
on my awakened return.
Published 10th Sep 2015
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