Thursday, November 8, 2012

A Poem by Marilyn "Misky" Braendeholm


Another frosty morning,
and my dreams are wading
through lofty mist. Awake
grey day, another iced
morn as you sleep beside me.
Birds’ song long flown
on thread-bare branches,
and perhaps, just maybe
I should have done the same.
And I stare with silver shivers
at Mother Nature’s New Clothes.

Marilyn 'Misky' Braendeholm lives in the UK surrounded by flowers, grapevines, bubbling pots of sourdough starter, bottles of fermenting vinegar, a Springer Spaniel, and a small camera that she keeps in her pocket. She never buys clothing without pockets.
Misky’s poetry and flash fiction are at and Misky Cooks at

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