All is Sleep
A foal races circles around its dam,
content with an instinct
that confines and controls
his tiny orbit; a world,
without abstracts.
No hell - No heaven!
a pasture, thence,
his whole existence.
Prostrate, on meadow grass,
his eyes glaze - eclipsed by
heavy lids. Buttercups
and drowsy warmth lull
his gangling form, nether.
All is sleep.
Suzanne Delaney was born in Tasmania and, now lives in Hawaii.
A retired Registered Nurse she enjoys her time to be creative
and to write about life around her.
Thank you, Phyllis Babcock, for the following comment:
ReplyDeleteSuzanne--A wonderful descriptive poem about the life of a foal.
Thankyou Phyllis
ReplyDeleteI appreciate your comment.
Dear Suzanne,
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for all the kind comments you left for others at Whispers today. It is encouraging people like you that make the site a supportive place to share writing. I greatly appreciate your efforts.
Karen
Your words give a great visual of the meadow - everything just a bit lazy and sleepy eyed. Nice reading with a gentle flow...
ReplyDeleteRhoda
A readable and enjoyable piece.
ReplyDeleteDear Suzanne,
ReplyDeleteThat first stanza shows contentment can be found in the confines of what we call restriction. I imaging that foul romping carelessly in a meadow of a world, and then his legs splayed in sleep. What a treat to read.
love,
Kathy
Thank you, Rick Sponaugle, for the following comment--
ReplyDeleteA unique and deep poem, well thought out. It makes the reader think. Superb imagery and choice of words.