Activity

‘Cause it’s nighttime and that’s quiet time. (Talking with a John Crist accent, ’cause that’s how I’m FEELin’ right now!) Anyway, in the WIC (WhIsper Chat) I’ve a piece of a poem that is the only piece for that poem. Anyway, here it is:

So to the songs of grass and home

We march and comb the beaches long.

When waves of soft, there folding sheets

We sing and hum of tales strong.

So now! To romp about and splash!

To see the sweetened mountain air,

To jump and sprawl and thin the sleet

That tingles and tintinnabulates.

The waves they crash upon the shores

The glowing; sun from through their backs

Where piercing is a’thrash and there

The moment tense and ice; becomes.

When stepped upon from up above

And split the seems of warmth and light

To darkness take them and with cold

The dungeons of despair, not hope;

They grasp and sink within that grasp

Shaking and fraught with losing hope.

Smooth became and all to drift,

Then up above, they came again.