July 27, 2019
E. Paola de Rose
Millennia it slept.
Still, dark, cold.
Under a taut white skin,
Smooth and thin in places -
Thick, tough, ridged in others.
Aeons of silence.
No breath of wind could reach it.
No shaft of sun.
Aglow in ghostly half-light half of each year,
Then suspended in months of polar night.