Mark Heathcote

Silver Star - 3,433 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

Teething child


Daylight fevers under cold sheets
Where sleep is like a pilot-light
Hoping it never meets the night
Never blinks at its dead defeats.

Oh teething child, scorn on brave.
Bite on deep; disconnect your jaw,
And take in more, kicking, roars.
Than even you can, ever waive.

Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Topic of this poem: poem


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