Poem Written from the Inside
The first lines of this poem
I plucked from the sky
while the sun was called away;
they were loitering among the clouds.
I have laid them between hills
under the word for "tarn"
so that they will not billow
should the wind blow,
though a hindrance of beech trees
forms a wind-break to the north
which, in the interests of the poem,
I assembled from a small coppice.
Little girls are picking wildflowers
further down the hill;
I would have preferred them,
in deference to the poem,
to have been paddling
in the shallows of the tarn
but felt it much too much to ask.
© 2014 by S.J. White
from his book, Oddities,
published by Third Dimension Press,