There’s a tiger

At the bottom

Of the garden.

Sitting in the middle

Of the apple tree,

Pale green leaves

Curling all around him,

Small green apples

Tapping his bright body

He waits for nightfall,

Padding quietly

Through the darkness

To me, where I sit,

Sleepless, by the window.

His claws rattle

On my heart.

Ripping away my defences,

Bringing sadness,

Doubling up on sorrow.

The night has gone,

Here comes the dawn

With the bright tiger leaping

Into the brighter sun,

Flowering the apple tree’s

Small blossoms of love.

My eyes close

And I sleep.

      ©2023 Gwen Grant

3 thoughts on “TIGER IN THE NIGHT

  1. Your first reply is here, Sharon. I hope your machine is behaving itself now. Glad you liked the poem – and today it
    feels like Spring!


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