Growing out of the ground,
The same brown of worms,
Rusty metal squirms
From sundried earth,
From fiery hell,
Into frigid brightness,
Into cold ocean winds,
To serve as shelter
For a wren;
Sitting patiently and peacefully
Waiting for winter to end—
The expired bombshell
Finally found a friend.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Highland Shrapnel
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2 comments:
Call this an experiment in rhyme. I rarely get that device to work well, but continue to try.
I like it. It's...yeah. interesting. nice sounds, tongue-tied and twisted. Nice idea, too. I especially like "rusty metal squirms" and "into cold ocean winds". Nice rhythm and flow to it, and the rhyming is good, but all of that might be tweaked a bit too.
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