Cloistered

In the silence of a winter night
when even the stars are sleeping,
imagine the whispered song of a snowflake
on its way from heaven

or the sound of mist muffled
by the thick white counterpane…
Earth tucked in by a loving hand
and everyone, the laborer and the lazy,

exploring the hinterland of dreams.
No pin dropping, no feather drifting;
so quiet that even a pine needle
makes a thud

as it bumps
into the pale glow
of a moonbeam
tracking the scratch of my pen

8 comments

  1. Hi Sarah

    “Cloistered” is the perfect title for this poem evoking a kind of spiritual calm and inspiration as well. To be settled into the Winter’s lull, the evening hour with its cocooning effect of snow and windless air letting you hear nothing and maybe everything that matters (to a writer, is a divine state of mind/being. I am there feeling this night and wanting that snowflake to land on my window, for that pine needle to drop with the fragrance of the natural world and my pen to express its meaning, its influence, my gratitude.

    exploring the hinterland of dreams.
    No pin dropping, no feather drifting;
    so quiet that even a pine needle
    makes a thud

    as it bumps
    into the pale glow
    of a moonbeam
    tracking the scratch of my pen

    Beautiful writing!
    Thank you for this!
    Take care
    Wendy

    Liked by 1 person

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