Three Poets Down by the Brook

Three poets rot down a river bed their body decomposing except their head still composing poetry and recite being dead where poems still flow I’ve heard them read *one was caught by the sun beam flickering ripples of light* *another fought by a splashing bream kicking up a fight* *the third flowed down the rapid stream where water foams white* I, one day went fishing and caught myself a fish down the river swimming quoting Tennyson Dickinson and Finch I set it free because poetry is freeing Not every line in the end is a hook three dead poets can testify down by the brook

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