Dream on a Winter Afternoon

A Poem By Hannah W. // 12/28/2012

I had a dream that we were walking
down riverbanks of ice.
My feet were slipping.
The snow had drifted high.

Then I woke and I'd been sleeping
underneath the deep snow
deep beneath the white snow
buried in the sweet snow
up to my chin.

Then I woke and it was just the blankets,
warm and home, in bed.

I listened to the songs left over from the summer,
from when I was at the sea:
all those songs I had in my head
back then.

And I can't decide, sometimes
if I would rather be here, or there--

But actually I'm just glad
that you and I can walk along the riverbanks
when the riverbanks are ice
and that I didn't slip too far
from your reach.

Comments

Cute!

I like the rhythm and the words you choose. Good job. :)

Maddi | Fri, 12/28/2012

Goodbye? Oh no, please. Can’t we just go back to page one and start all over again?” – Winnie The Pooh

I love this. Somehow I feel

I love this. Somehow I feel that the last stanza means something deeper than ice-banks and not slipping through it. And that's why I love this.

Lucy Anne | Fri, 12/28/2012

"It is not the length of life, but the depth of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Beautiful

Beautiful! This is one of those poems that touches me somewhere inside, and makes me feel a whole string of emotions, without really being able to say why. Does this sound weird? Anyway, thank you so much for sharing :)

little woman | Fri, 12/28/2012

The most astonishing thing about miracles is that they happen.
-G. K. Chesterton

I loved -

- these lines:

"Then I woke and I'd been sleeping
underneath the deep snow
deep beneath the white snow
buried in the sweet snow"

So lilting and hypnotic... and I loved how you woke up twice: it was disorienting (like warm winter mornings are) and I just pleasantly lost myself in the entire poem! :)

Sarah Bethany | Sun, 12/30/2012

Oh, Hannah, this is gorgeous.

Oh, Hannah, this is gorgeous. Every time you write I gather in a new favorite. Just, all of it - each line gives a new shade of meaning, yet it all clings together.

Anna | Fri, 03/22/2013

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

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