"fbor" poems
be still, my love, it's all ok
or will be soon, I hope
the world, with sweaty palms, still clings
to fraying bits of rope
the plants, they like it warmer
and the animals can cope
(or those that hold tight, anyway,
to fraying bits of rope)
what’s wood made for, if not a flame?
the creatures can elope
the forests singe another inch
of fraying bits of rope
and now it's time to go, my love,
to journey down the slope
you didn't learn, and so you lost
your fraying bits of rope
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 9:23 AM UTC