Guest Poet Meagan Hegland


In the deep winter night I lay and listen. I listen to the night birds, the desperate silence of the forest, but most of all I listen for the gentle whisperings. Whisperings Whisperings in which have been haunting me for years. These gentle whispers are of children. Small children lost in the wintery woods. Woods that have gathered small children and swallowed them up never never to be seen again. These whispers seem to be a small cry of help. Sometimes I wish to save them but I am afraid; afraid I shall become one of them. One of the whispers, desperate to be heard, to be saved. Desperate to be free.

November, 1997

Meagan Hegland's Questions:

I entered this poem in a poetry contest through The National Library Of Poetry and I was wondering if this poem was good enough to win anything? I worked really hard on it and I want it rated truthfully. My name is Meagan Hegland and I'm 13 and I'm trying to get a poetic career started and I want to know if I'm good enough.

Correspond with Meagan Hegland at
with your ideas about this poem.

The Albany Poetry Workshop