The Sage

by Anna Lovering
(United States)

A letter composed for
home which stole
out as a thief whisper

to pick upon Jack
Frost's night writing
on a windowpane as a

snowflake etched in time
with silver highlights.
To stop Tom Thumb from

eating the last of the
scrutiny pie. Only seen
and viewed from a jester

of night stopped in as a
courtier of lights straddled to
a carriage haloed in light.

Where Laurel, a wreath
that laid atop her mind not
to bend time but to

bring solace to sleep.
That mares, strong and sturdy
pulled the fog

apart as curtains
drawn too
tight.

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Impressive!
by: Eve Robson

This is one of the better poems I've read on My Word Wizard in a while. Well done!

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good stuff, Anna
by: The 3rd Gick of Nuinan

Just foolin' around, Anna ... it's me, Nick. You have to understand that I don't know my kneecaps from knockwurst about poetry, but I give you five stars. Your words are delicate, and very impressionistic. I'm sure they elicit different images in every reader's mind. Don't worry about Tom Thumb scarfing the last of the scrutiny pie, though ... I beat him to the punch. Scrutiny I know, but I'm always somewhat less than discerning. Keep it up, kid.

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