The Nest
My thoughts all whirl, a whoosh, and wash;
through synapses a flame.
Held within this crusted case,
a cage, a crown, a brain.
My thoughts, it seems
form verse not dream
and so, I seldom rest;
a snap, a swirl, on I whirl,
yet never leave the nest.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
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