Still Life

Scarcely a breeze stirs.

The pond remains unrippled. 

The folks at my house are still asleep

and even outdoors there’s hardly a peep.

From this stillness what will be born –

squawk, a howl, a sweet murmur,

an argument or, perhaps, a song? 

                                                                                      JDG

This entry was posted in poetry.

One comment on “Still Life

  1. Shelley Brinson says:

    “Still Life” . . . in the key of ‘Thee’.

    Like

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