The moping owl does to the moon complain.
The thoughts that arise
as small as a world and as large as along
groped to feel a handle in my mind.
The doors leap open, emptying light.
Each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.
A thousand blended notes,
kisses of a night
tangling the smoke and star-dust.
Sleep caught him and was drifted sweetly about him
washing the sorrows out of his mind.
Thanks to Odette Ware for this three word prompt: So so tired.
*A Cento poem created from the works of Thomas Grey, Alfred Lord Tennyson,
e.e.cummings, Thom Gunn, Karl Shapiro, Vera Rich. Homer
© Raili Tanska