A POEM BY GER WHITE
The Giant
Published in Spillwords
It was just a hill field to the neighbours
But we knew it as the Bed of the Giant
And when he was heavily breathing
His breath shaped a fog oe’r the land
It was rare that anyone saw him!
Sleep was what he did best
It seems he was old and a tired Giant
So we should keep very quiet, let him rest!
Most folk saw a green hill-field
We saw Giant’s Head and Feet
And ogled at that large heaving belly
And wondered when and how we would meet!
So we tiptoed past his bed in the morning
And ran past it scared late at night
We watched every move, every heaving
That Giant’s bed filled us with fright.
I then moved away from that hillside
Returning years later to visit some kin
Out of curiosity I checked on the “Giant”
Saw nothing but a hill-field of green.
My daughter was with me however.
I felt nothing. But as we were leaving
She pulled on my arm in excitement
“Mom-wait, I can hear the giant breathing”
But we knew it as the Bed of the Giant
And when he was heavily breathing
His breath shaped a fog oe’r the land
It was rare that anyone saw him!
Sleep was what he did best
It seems he was old and a tired Giant
So we should keep very quiet, let him rest!
Most folk saw a green hill-field
We saw Giant’s Head and Feet
And ogled at that large heaving belly
And wondered when and how we would meet!
So we tiptoed past his bed in the morning
And ran past it scared late at night
We watched every move, every heaving
That Giant’s bed filled us with fright.
I then moved away from that hillside
Returning years later to visit some kin
Out of curiosity I checked on the “Giant”
Saw nothing but a hill-field of green.
My daughter was with me however.
I felt nothing. But as we were leaving
She pulled on my arm in excitement
“Mom-wait, I can hear the giant breathing”
© Ger White 2026
