Where the Grass Grows Tall

My son and I have hearty imaginations. Toegether, we visit amazing worlds and enjoy wonderful adventures. Hip, hip to my boy. Hip, hip to fairytales.

Goodnight, my Boy

for Garrett

Empty walnut shells will make
fine beds for the sprites, and, of course,
rose petals will keep them warm

as they sleep. Gargoyle’s have found
their perch on the chimmney
and the ogres have just finished

excavating their burrows
beneath the tool shed.
And, yes, they’ve taken the candles

we left for them on the oak stump,
stout as a mountain dwarf,
near the barn where the grass

grows thick, feather-tipped, and tall,
This is where we will lie in the morning,
spying dragons darting between the clouds.


If I could begin each day, spying dragons with my son – wonderful!!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Two Right Feet.”

(Poem’s first draft)


2 thoughts on “Where the Grass Grows Tall

  1. Pingback: The morning routine… | The Hempstead Man

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