As Dragons Sleep: On Turning 48

Today is my birthday. I’m 48-years-old (or young). If I were to pen a short poem on turning 48, on approaching 50, on aging, and grey hair, and tired bones, I might write…

Image result for sparrow

As Dragons Sleep

(on turning 48)

The sparrow
failed to imagine
the danger it graced,
perched upon

the dragon’s snout
warming its wet feathers
in the serpent’s breath,
and the dragon failed

to appreciate,
slunk in sleep,
a small feather,
laced with the zip and dart

of countless, tiny adventures,
left after it stirred,
startling the bird to flight –
but I grasp it all.


3 thoughts on “As Dragons Sleep: On Turning 48

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