Oh, try a phrase, yes, try a phrase,
I'm with you every trill you venture,
the only singer in these few gardens
hedged and fenced and thorn-tree-backed.
I'd on a chair and give the neighbourhood
an aria, chest and throated past an idle tongue,
much like a frog being swallowed by a crow
Koax! Koax! bring out all your dogs to howl
who for this afternoon are in kind abeyance.
No. I'll leave the pipework to your throat and tongue
that crimps the very fraying ends of air
crisping the ripples of the winding inner ear
where elven boats slow rocking at their docks
ride on aurora banners in the mere.
..
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
