deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Magic Cottage
Lodged between the city humps,
Camel carried not spilling a drop
I gulped and gasped for freshness,
searching for ley lines with blind rabbits.
The candles have been stealing light
with knowledge of how short a life can be
when wrinkles pool before they run.
Imagine then on sunbaked stone
sleeping soft inside the roses
of trellis and nightingales song,
a patch, thatched for a welcome nest,
wattle daubs warmth
south facing over its step.
In this place there is light enough
for all creatures to turn their faces.
In this place there is enough.
Camel carried not spilling a drop
I gulped and gasped for freshness,
searching for ley lines with blind rabbits.
The candles have been stealing light
with knowledge of how short a life can be
when wrinkles pool before they run.
Imagine then on sunbaked stone
sleeping soft inside the roses
of trellis and nightingales song,
a patch, thatched for a welcome nest,
wattle daubs warmth
south facing over its step.
In this place there is light enough
for all creatures to turn their faces.
In this place there is enough.
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