Feinting At Hampstead Heath Poem by Dorothy Pugin
Feinting At Hampstead Heath
I lie under leaves
of grave oak trees
and dodge the sieved sun
I shift my head
and blink my eye
a fearless sun
and an oak
no match
I am stuck
with a pin
like a fly
right through.
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5/2/2024 1:19:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The nicest thing about getting a comment on one's poem is that it points to the commenter's poetry. This is such a resonant work - images of the god of the oaks, sacrifice, the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - spring to mind. And even then, I'm sure I never discovered the secret of your song. That's the mark of a true work of poetry. Lovexx, Will