March 2019
Note: I was a life-long closet writer until five years ago. Then I started sending out poems, got three published in an anthology and my writng world started to grow. Recent poems appeared in The Song Is…, Naturewriting, Between These Shores and Failed Haiku.
Storyteller
The story-doll’s mouth is open,
she pours out stories to children.
A large mother with open arms,
she draws in little ones with stories.
Babies, tots, youngsters
sit on her legs, feet and head,
crawl on her stomach, chest and back,
sit on her lap,
one holds onto mother’s neck,
peeks out under her long hair.
As it was and so it is,
children fall
into the deep open well
of stories.
Storyteller
The story-doll’s mouth is open,
she pours out stories to children.
A large mother with open arms,
she draws in little ones with stories.
Babies, tots, youngsters
sit on her legs, feet and head,
crawl on her stomach, chest and back,
sit on her lap,
one holds onto mother’s neck,
peeks out under her long hair.
As it was and so it is,
children fall
into the deep open well
of stories.
©2019 Ingrid Bruck
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