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A spoonful of cotton

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A timeless call
An uneasy swagger
Leads the way to bed

The sheets are cool like cotton seeds
Underneath the loamy ground
My eyes contract, move side to side
A small shiver shakes me down

A stillness falls
visions of cattle
warm breath rising
beside a quiet twisting stream

The sheets are warm like cotton balls
Beneath the Mississippi sun
My are eyes  heavy, my eyes are light
Another day is done

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About wherearetheheros

just someone my mother might know

4 responses »

  1. There is such a timelessness to your poetry . . .like it could’ve been written long ago, and read for ages, one to another, passed on to children and their children. 🙂 Thank you for making my days a better place!

    Reply
    • well this one is kind of a timeless/universal subject but you know a lot of people dont crawl into a nice bed at the end of the day.
      Once when my daughter was helping me work by the railroad track she was amazed at the coat hanging from a tree. I told her ,” everybody doesn’t go home to a nice brick house at the end of the day.” ( actually I said dont instead of doesnt ha ha)

      thanks Debbie

      Reply
      • Yes, everybody don’t go home to a nice brick house at the end of the day. “A spoonful of cotton” will stay with me, as does the poem “Death is nothing at all” by Canon Henry Scott Holland (I think that’s his name). Namaste

    • Debbie, just wanted to say how much I like your comments here. They speak to me of someone who is open to that strange and wonderful art called poetry and of someone with a gentle, sweet soul.

      Reply

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