SPF 50A Poem by BruceUpon yonder hills fires burn down a withered town Rumor has it a widow died tragic snakecharmed by a soothsayer who moonlit as a mandolin player all it took was a whisper a sigh turned to whimper "My you are limber." he would say with a laugh. but the pantomime had dropped the dime on his actions of distraction and into the widow''s bedchamber he doth remain, enslaved, and in chains relegated to cleaning stains on the cold wooden floors of the Dame. © 2011 Bruce |
Stats
128 Views
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on December 5, 2011Last Updated on December 5, 2011 AuthorBruceChicago, ILAbout“Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life every ti.. more..Writing
|