Teething Child Poem by Mark Heathcote

Teething Child



Daylight fevers under cold sheets
Where sleep is like a pilot-light
Hoping it never meets the night
Never blinks at its dead defeats.

Oh teething child, scorn on brave.
Bite on deep; disconnect your jaw,
And take in more, kicking, roars.
Than even you can, ever waive.

Monday, July 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success