The Waking Moment Poem by John Wilkinson
The Waking Moment
Rating: ★5.0
In summer
in country places
it's the custom yet
to fill
hearth or grate
with evergreen.
Inquisitor
do not nip it
do not blaze it
do not cut it
with that knife,
a little child
ripped from surveillance,
it was bark of
your left eye.
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: places
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8/28/2026 8:30:55 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
