Wonder
Wonder
my chair
is a flying chair
not fleeing as you
might think
but soaring
into greatest heights
to sights my soul
may drink in words
to carry back
and ponder on a while
to see the Kubla’s pleasure dome
or Petra’s carven city.
place them in the baskets
beside the parlour stove
then over time
I call them out
warm and lit by fire
to see the alliances
they’ve made, within
the treasure trove
at wishes bid they
weave a dance
depending on the mood
and oft with but the briefest
glance, a magic story may unfold.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment