{ "componentChunkName": "component---src-templates-post-js", "path": "/literature/poetry/the-woods/", "result": {"data":{"post":{"id":"cG9zdDo2NjE=","excerpt":"

I found, in the middle, an open grave. / Of course I climbed down

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I went to the woods
For a short walk.
I found, in the middle, an open grave.
Of course I climbed down
To see if it would fit,
Of course it did.

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The birds embroider
A lullaby
Just for me.
The badgers stand guard,
As I sleep underground.
They bring me grass, for a pillow.

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The leaves above
Block out the sun and rain,
Mainly,
So I am dappled in both.
Moss grows
through my hair,
Which the foxes come to stroke.

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I went for a walk in the woods,
In the middle
I found an open grave,
That fit just so.
It feels so welcome
It must be fate.

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I dream now under birdsong
And with moss through my hair,
On a pillow of grass
That the badgers brought,
Of the man who gave me
This gift.

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\n\n \n \"Bealtaine\n \n
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Sophie Greer-Sanders

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\n \n @sophie_sanders_poet\n
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Sophie Greer-Sanders grew up on the shores of Lough Derg, and works in the Graphics department of an archaeology company in Wicklow, producing maps. Her poetry and her work in this regard share the common themes of tracing the origins of human connections. Her work has been featured in in the anthology of new Tipperary Writing, Vessel of Voices.

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","title":"The Woods","date":"February 24, 2021","issue_number":{"issueNumber":"Issue 1"},"featuredImage":null},"previous":{"uri":"/literature/poetry/home-fires/","title":"Home Fires"},"next":{"uri":"/literature/essays/one-layer-at-a-time/","title":"One Layer at a Time"}},"pageContext":{"id":"cG9zdDo2NjE=","previousPostId":"cG9zdDo2NjQ=","nextPostId":"cG9zdDo1ODY="}}, "staticQueryHashes": ["3240029854","848497233"]}