A late-night poem creeps into my mind
just before midnight arrives
and sprouts this tiny seed of an idea into
a hulking pumpkin ripe for picking from a thoughtful vine
Carvers’ stomachs growl and scoop out the sticky pulp–
words splatter from stringy sentences upon which readers feast.
I like this! You keep up well with your metaphor.
Thanks, Nancy. 🧡
Thanks for the midnight snack! Enjoyed this.
You’re welcome. Thanks for reading! 😋