Mark Heathcote

Gold Star - 10,518 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

Teething Child - Poem by Mark Heathcote

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.

Topic(s) of this poem: poem

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Poem Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014

Poem Edited: Tuesday, July 15, 2014

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