It’s a Comfort to Know

It’s a Comfort to Know

It’s a comfort to know
that, now and then,
the troll, spotted
and gnarled, slinks

from the wet dark
beneath his bridge,
slips through
the meadow

where moonlight
glistens on the feathered grass,
on the stems
of sleeping flowers,

creeps close,
peers through a hole
in the fence
that surrounds my home,

hopes, as he trembles,
to catch sight of the beastie
that covets
both day and night.

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7 thoughts on “It’s a Comfort to Know

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