The deers are not likely to come by this time of year
too cold for them exposed in cleared field
each morning she strained to see
not wearing her glasses incase they were not real
bidding magic requires another kind of sight
would they?
turning like red figures against thimbled alabaster
washing through low winter light
emerge long enough to reward
the little girl who stayed up nights
she believed then in miracles
and the warmth of hands
enclosed on winters sleep
revealing moments of pleasure
for drousy children to wonder at
the soft glory of being

0 Replies to “The soft glory of being”

      1. Thanks my sweet friend. I borrowed your last line in my post today, #1339. And I wrote the post with you in mind. I had an epiphany while I read a comment of yours on another post I had commented on. I hope you will read it and understand what I was trying to get at. Love and hugs, Natalie 🙂 <3

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