He rests his head on soft, still bed,

                Buttoned up in dreams, well-fleeced

The day is run and tales are spun,

                In folds of fun, well-creased.

Outside the night – snow’s aura, bright,

                Aglow in inky hues

Dark priest is he, bent at the knee,

                His prayers, peace imbue.

I cup the cheek of one so meek

                And touch upon a truth

His endless eyes, my nightly prize,

                Warm soul, a blessed fruit.

This night, once dark, a world apart

                From where I used to be

This knight, my light, who gives me sight

                Was blind, but now I see.


other works

Mr. Mole's Sense of Adventure

The Countdown

Set Sail!


Analog Annie

Typewriter Keys