A LONG, STRANGE NIGHT
AT THE WILDFLOWER INN

As the dial turns to morn,
I am sleeping like a fawn,
restless as it stirs to hear
the dry rustling in the corn,
shivering, lost, as it hides,
cold, orphaned, and forlorn,
when it lifts its head to see
the night's drapery all torn,
admitting the dull, grey light
of a rainy, heartless dawn.


This poem was dreamed
at the Wildflower Inn,
Lyndonville, Vermont

October 6, 2001

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter