Find with me a secret cove,
Sheltering from the storm outside.
Beneath the bows of an ancient tree,
Where I may lay my bones out to dry.
This weary world gives life no rest,
Upon rolling hills of green.
But hold me close beneath these branches,
That I may drink in love divine.
Oh Secret cove protect us nigh,
To the end of our days.
And rest our bones so worn by love,
Beneath these sheltering arms.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.