Tuck me in to sleep and dream,

away, out of the way, deep in

green-souled memory ticking

with the patter of small claws,

insects’ wings’ clatter, the rill

and trill of rain and breeze and

bird song, in warmth, in safety,

tuck me in embrace until the

deep dark fold of Winter has

passed.

— C.Birde, 12/17