Tossing and turning.
A hundred Augusts went by ,
each August equalled an eon.
Rivers ran the sledges and caverns ,
the sun rose high and burned ,
each day the grass grew and glowed,
and yet I tossed and turned.
Hopes heavy on heart ,
floating on a hundred waves ,
each wave a wasted breath.
Down the hills the moon passed ,
glistening glaciers slid and churned ,
each day the music made merry ,
and still I tossed and turned.
Tossing and turning.
A hundred repetitions forced on me ,
each repetition buried my being.
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MELLIFLUOUS
Poetry** A poetry collection ** Best Ranking : #1 in Poetry -- 21/06/2022
