Theme: Poet

Petulant Wallflower

There’s this poet I knew 
A precious young thing 
Who pasted his poems
On his attic ceiling.

A demon with words 
He’d rip you to shreds 
With a cutting remark
He’d leave you stone dead. 

A poet with axe
He once had some friends
But lost them all 
When they followed false ends.

Now marooned on his own
With no one left to care 
This petulant wallflower 
Has withered in despair.


More By  :  Stephen Watson

Views: 1444     Comments: 0

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