I love it while
it sleeps--smiling,
wet with tea;
dreaming dormouse dreams.
I tickle its downy fur.
And it laughs and
moans softly.
I want to put it in
my pocket and
carry it everywhere;
take it out on
lonely autumn nights and
play with her until
she's exhausted,
relaxed and rested,
content and lost in my
fingers and in my heart.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 13th, 2025 19:23
- Comment from author about the poem: Sleep Always Calls, available on Amazon.com (This is a repost poem.) www.thomaswcase.com #httpswwwamazoncomsleepalwayscallsthomascasedpb0f7fs5dqbrefsr link to my new book
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 56
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments9
Makes me wonder who the dormouse is. Intriguing work Thomas
lol. Thanks.
Wonderful write, enjoyed
Thank you.
You are very welcome
I'm with sorrenbarret on this one 🌹
It's a mystery. lol
Powerful write, Thomas. Another fave. 🌹👏
Thank you.
You are most welcome!
I can't help but notice that "it" evolves to "she". Nicei work here.
Yes, exactly. Thank you.
Love the vibe of this one. Nailed it. Nicely done. Cheers, Tom.
Thank you, my friend.
Didn't Florence Nightingale carry an Owl in her pocket; I once read.
Enjoyable Poem.
Thank you.
a very soothing and soporfic poem..feel like the dormouse already
ty
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