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When Mother calls
my planet fissures.
I slither free;
gills flap as I
suck on silt.

I am born

in a misty realm
of brackish juice;
it sways, undulates,
casts me adrift.

I am alone

in the murk,
curled by hunger,
quietly floating.

Who am I?

  This is the second of a series of poems about the life-cycle of the dragonfly: he is just a nymph  I wrote them for the final assignment of my creative writing course.  Any and all comments welcome.


Categories: Just Poetry

Tags: , ,

2 replies

  1. I am loving these, Sally! I hope you were happy with your result 🙂 (I’m sure you were if this is anything to go by.)

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