Turtle Tottle Dens
by Dan Senn

Sledding down this endless hill
I think not of the end
lest I wreck
the slid-slide riding
the wind
around my neck.

Sledding down this slippery slope,
the air so cold
yet full of hope,
my feelings lift
up o’re the clouds
down fluffing on
this endless slope.

Spinning now atop the pond
away from sticks and rocks afixed
like spears I hear
the long lone croke
of breaking ice
which terrors my throat.

Sinking now
beneath the water
down to turtle, tottle dens.

DS 122018
ęDan Senn 2019