The feet should descend towards the ground gently
But not quite touch
A few millimetres above will do nicely
Proceed thus through these parts in the darkness.
Here among the short grass blades,
Among the busy beetles
And the briefly alighting bees,
The sensitivities bleat.
Souls wounded, but still hanging on
At once in repose and contemplative
Rising soon, again, I'm sure,
To coalesce into corporeal beings
And to rage again toward the hills
Where all manner of adventures await.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
The feet should descend towards the ground gently
But not quite touch
A few millimetres above will do nicely
Proceed thus through these parts in the darkness.
Here among the short grass blades,
Among the busy beetles
And the briefly alighting bees,
The sensitivities bleat.
Souls wounded, but still hanging on
At once in repose and contemplative
Rising soon, again, I'm sure,
To coalesce into corporeal beings
And to rage again toward the hills
Where all manner of adventures await.
With apologies to Dylan Thomas
Request permission to use this poem