Poetry Play

 

Ear Worm

John, John,
The gander’s gone.
The fox is on the town.
The kits will cry ‘til by and by
The gander’s on their table.
John, John.

 

Full moon
On the desert
Pulls on the sand and rock
The ancient sea now seems long gone.
Neap tide.

 

Bosque
Birds are betrayed
By the boy child’s tantrums.
Bringing winter back blasting spring’s
Breezes.

 

Cigars,
Cigarettes, pipes.
Chewing tobacco, snuff.
Made from crops lovingly tended
To death.

 

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