Camp

Poem By Stephen Saul

cross-legged
by the fire
peering into the mist
the sound of struggle
on the water:
wings beat fiercely
straining skyward
two snaps of a twig
a low growl
the sound of nothingness
fills my ears
a wind
light and cool
pulls gently at the fire
my face
old and drawn
in the restless flames

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Old Poet

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