Cold blue morning. Mist and mizzle
and winter trees. A darkened bus
sits at the roadside, the police
in attendance. A small boy, maybe
six or seven, looks on, a cigarette
dangling from his lips.
"If I had a flower for every penguin
that danced," he says.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 8:38 AM UTC
Cold blue morning. Mist and mizzle
and winter trees. A darkened bus
sits at the roadside, the police
in attendance. A small boy, maybe
six or seven, looks on, a cigarette
dangling from his lips.
"If I had a flower for every penguin
that danced," he says.
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