Ain't gonna fake it as white seagulls fly are
flown into black vultures that turn on high.
Seen a caterpillar blue reaching also for sky
back legs stiff poised, feet in a grasp unmet,
poignant beads seeking, widely, all the rest.
(A butterfly poses in yellow and black for
a red-headed girl born to speak to it best)
Better use new hickory, old oak cannot easily flex
when quanting a punt across the cold morning dew.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
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Gerry,
ReplyDeleteYes, A comment is most certainly merited, as per usual:)
An experiential thread with savy and years added to this quaint piece of writing. A master at work, rather than a veneer scripted over a beer-mat.
Best wishes,
Eileen:)
Well, I am no stranger to beer-mats either, but usually host a wine glass. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteGood one... enjoying the poems... cheers!
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