The old goat sleeps
with piccalo,
hunts in dream
some lover near,
snorts in woodland
undergrowth,
the hills and plateaus
of his fears.
A cloven hoof?
Lifes ageing man.
Unnurtered truth,
a sexual dam.
Rivers run deep
when my man sleeps.
Sally Plumb
I have to wonder about this man of yours.. and of course you too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Age robs many things if mind is not green lol… thanks for sharing…WJR Regards Ms. Nivedita UK 10/10
Thanks for remarks Niv. Sally