Winter put his shoulder
To our door,
Nights are turning colder
More and more;
We are old-or older
Than before.
Poppied sleep and honeyed breath
Are an antidote for death.
If your fingers tingle
Hold them here:
Doom has drawn a single
Circle clear;
Lean to me and mingle
Fear with fear….
Poppied sleep and honeyed breath
Are an antidote for death.
(Genevieve Taggard)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Fear Poems, Winter PoemsBased on Keywords: antidote, poppied