Mar 5
1 min read
The Wandering Poet
A Hymn for Cold Mornings
a poem
Come sing to me in sleep. I’d hold you close,
a counter to the misery that stirs
like shadows in a corner. So it goes,
the monster tries to pierce me with its burrs
but I am not so fragile. Not this time,
a gentle serendipity begins,
it fortifies a tired poet’s rhyme,
and brews a hopeful magic deep within.
