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Poem Number 1167
His old eyes I recall
Each an owl tucked away in the hollow of a knotted oak stump
The frosty canopy of his brows drooping heavily above them
I what memory is keeping such brows from collapsing
I (wonder) what... oops
Collapsing and crushing those ancient bird sentinals to death
Commentary:
Your writing brings to my mind the poems of Robert Frost. Do keep them coming.
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A fanciful write. Yes, please continue!
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"Each an owl tucked away in the hollow of a knotted oak stump" --
damn... that's good.
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ha. thank you.
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