21.December.20


Head on pillowed bed.

Window closed.

Under blanket: both nirled and curled.

How can gelid thoughts escape away from this brumal day?

Eyes close.

Swevens rise to heavens—just like palms.

No need to play a sycophant to earn company of tropical plant.

Sleep’s swap: trees ease to breeze so freeze will cease to tease zzzs.

Warmth is gone?

Let dreams up yon.

Then, friend and fond each frond. ; )

Categories: Melange

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