Sunday, May 8, 2011

The Woolgatherer

They say I’m a dreamer
indulging in idle fancies;
a woolgatherer
who observes the world through
a rose-tinted mist.

I’m told I don’t view reality,
but do they notice
the tiny sprout peeking
through early spring earth,
the intricate lace that spiders spin,
cloud works-of-art in a sunset sky?

Do they visit exotic lands
from a fireside chair,
revel in a future
full of impossible dreams?

I’m a woolgatherer;
a dreamer, indulging in idle fancies,
perceiving worlds they never see.


  1. Love this poem. Thank you for posting.

    LeAnn aka pasqueflower

  2. Thanks. It's one of my favorites. I've put together a book of my poetry...just created on the computer, printed, then bound by a local printer. Very amateurish. I titled it The Woolgatherer and it's the first poem in the book.