"fraternal" poems
-on a leader's departure
He who has no heart, may fill the hole
with quick success and loud dreams;
but greatness and eternal joy
may be reserved for brotherhood.
Step down, step back now.
When you emerged,
a triumph over longtime racial neglect,
you confirmed:
we all are, we all can be brothers.
It's simply our choice.
Each one of us deserves respect,
each one deserves care,
just for the plain fact of being alive.
No plight, no suffering, no fear apply,
no merit whatsoever needs to be added.
As darkness closes in on us,
your fraternal reign stands out even more.
No, it cannot end this way;
move on, travel this world, but don't forget us;
encourage us, anyhow, anytime, with your brotherly advice.
Say "Hope", say "Hope again!"
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Swoon to a tearful night, unknown to its grief
Dialogue of peace, and those of plight
Ringing of morphology, raindrops on the roof.
Such things heard from the peasants’ seat
In the many wet heads sopping
In the sonorous waves, upright in the city clime
Untending to their beds.
At the bottom of that something
All told are destined they will find
Be pliable to the ills they’ve dealt
To carry on, to work, admonishments
Said once to justify these red romances
That in every rain storm melt
As pity through the night, forever unclasped
From shackles of their blame
Since life and ideology somehow are the same.
‘Tis destiny for abating storms
As some will rose from their thickened thorns
These nights deliver their gentle morns
All the same as hemlock grows as poison
And is best to be avoided.
How—this, I fear only rain my know—
Can we still bathe in fraternal glow
When some still heal from Death himself
Each breath that enters is quickly prayed to leave
High on seated thrones
Those mean so quick to thieving, the poor
The lazy deserve no quarter
Those dusty pockets afford not one
So steal the heart upon his sleeve.
May we help man wrought our kin and kind
By common tongue, free, as we are ought?
Since another may make my world
He is mine to protect, not throw to bytes
So ludicrous and feeding back upon themselves
For destiny can be remade
If hatred weren’t so blind.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Did anyone ever thought
about this fraternal oneness,
why we are all in this universe
and so profoundly related.
Did you know that beneath
the differences of different
people lies only one man nature.
One world and one people.
Different beliefs but one source.
Varied culture and tradition
but one humanness.
Drinking same fountain of water
from above and below the earth.
All breathing same air,
what one breathes out,
another takes in.
We blend and merge together,
resonating in synergy to bring
desired octaves in response
to a beautiful and blissful sequence,
with different forms and
different wavelength Interwoven
holistically in wholeness.
As one sleeps the other awakes,
in different geographic areas,
sharing the same sun and moon,
as the stars shine daily bears witness,
though it is only seen in part in accord
with whoever is in the light or dark,
it's brightness is shown in the dark
only when the moon shines,
and hidden in the brightness of the sun,
as one is in the light with the sun,
the other is in dark with the moon.
We still shines as the stars in the
sky even though we don't know it.
Don't mess up what is so important
in your life just because you are
a little unsure of who you are.
Be truly your neighbors keeper,
for we are all related.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
Oh what a band of brothers we were,
The fantastic fraternal eternal gang.
Long sun-soaked summer daze,
The bunch of us, sometimes
Sitting legs folded under a parasol,
Telling stories and jokes
Beyond our years;
And then water fights,
We, the little soldier boys,
Armed with plastic pistols,
Rainbow coloured balloons,
Or super soakers,
Nobody ever won because
Nobody ever gave in,
Everyone was soaked,
Right to the bone.
Near endless evenings,
We played on the green,
Football, tag, 42, curbs,
We played on the green,
Even when the cold stung us,
Even when our skin glowed blue,
We played on the green,
Only until our mothers
Called for us to come in,
Time for tea,
Then time for bed and
A Bo Peep.
Oh what a band of brothers we were,
The fantastic fraternal eternal gang.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
7 pm like clockwork
A row of tiny, flat pearl soldiers
Gulped whole
So the dissolving of chalk suffocates the belly
Not tongue
A dozen little tablets
Now down to fraternal twins
Dark circles the colour of a bruise
Now fade away to sand
Washed away by time and sea
Angry red streaks hiss over my skin
On my thighs, my sides, my *******
Now yawn gossamer tiger marks
Proof of my excess
My will to heal
Curling fingers over my proof
Eyes black as charcoal
Glint like the night
When the looking glass
Proudly catches a hint of a smile.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:15 AM UTC
Today you wear a black sweater.
Standing in the marshy December atmosphere
With a cigarette between your two most learned fingers
You do not take shame in such a habit
But you make it so appealing.
That day you wore a beige knitted number
I saw you at dinner, and recognized you right away
Your distinctive ****** features peeking out
Over the loosely woven yarn that hugs your torso
That face I still cannot quite figure out.
I watched that beige collared cloth
Hang down your back and angle at your neck
As you danced behind that girl I didn’t know
And then I watched that same sweater
Stumble on over to me, ecstatic to be there
I had no reason not to indulge you.
And when you wear your school’s sweater
I know you need to belong, and play a part
You’re a rugby star, a lettered fraternal success
But I also know that grey cotton crew neck
Clings closer to you, than I ever will.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
If I listened to every advertisement
hollering through the static
of my cable-hooked television,
I'd have a mammoth bottle
of Hidden Valley Ranch
sitting with the ego-quenching sheen
of recommendation in my fridge,
a Weight Watchers membership
(it told me to join as soon as possible
with the speed of a steroid-devouring treadmill),
Children's Tylenol
(despite being situationally barren),
and a Bowflex-shaped elephant,
ivory tusks slumping uselessly in the corner.
My living room would be the fraternal twin
of the American Smithsonian,
a faux-genuine quilt
of our Founding Fathers'
present day descendants
draping over my popcorn ceiling.
I return to the latest
sacred cow in the flea store
cartel of Lifetime Movie heroines;
it's "Vengeful Vixens Sunday"
and Elizabeth Berkley shooting men
and stabbing women in the back
all while eating buckets of Ben and Jerry
and getting addicted to crystal ****
The dialogue is as freshly
packaged and slovenly edible
as the Minute Ready Late Night Dinner
with a cartoon grandma plastered on the logo,
all to remind you of down home,
or in the case of this Lifetime screenplay,
a time when the brain wasn't fully developed.
Same difference.
We all hide our guilty pleasures
as if our tolerance for the
secondhand existence of these favorites
were deemed malignant
by a cardboard kingdom
of young adult sophistication,
but I ask you:
who hasn't slipped into the comfort
of a mind turned to mush?
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler
In tomorrows omnicience or the future proof of God
The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer
Wether speakerphone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog.
Conveyance of a threat to adherants of St Selfwise
Show athiest's are proof here, in belief of disbelief,
Haunted by the images painting painfull retribution
Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief.
A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction
Shows perspective of the calibre we now reserve for Saints
A paradox regarded as autistic fascination
In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints.
Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression
Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow,
Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution
Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now?
Marshalg
13 February 2014
© 2014 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Autumn is the middle child, of Mother Moon and Father Sun
She is less cold and harsh than her sister Winter
Less feisty and forward than her sister Summer
She is less gentle and kind as her sister Spring
And while she is not physically the only middle child
She shares that title with her fraternal twin Spring
She is the middle of all her family,
Occasionally gentle like Mommy and Spring,
Sometimes feisty like Daddy and Summer,
She can even be harsh, on her bad days, like the eldest child, Winter
Do you see now, why Autumn is different?
Special?
In the middle?
She even goes by Fall, a nickname that Aunt Earth gave her
All those years ago
Before Auntie got sick
And Mommy got sad
Because Daddy made the flowers shun her
And Summer came home to visit later each year
And Winter stayed too long
Because her husband Frost hit her
And Spring came to tend the garden and left
And now Autumn is all but invisible
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
Birthed from perfect unknown void,
Crescendos of unific silence
And a ****** ear reflecting,
A Gift between Two Brothers discontent
Interweaves them now and evermore
In fraternal ******* to a nondual realm.
A lightning seed of thought between two darks,
One light enough to fade the cosmic frown,
To be reborn in strife eternal,
And set the Cycle hastening to a Muse.
His flickering strands dehiscing essence,
The perfect fracture in a faultless whole,
It brings to bear the Change supernal:
The Triple Sequence timely folding,
Unfolds the Rhapsody of Seasons:
Wind, Sea and Earth alighting
Origins of Fire churning dim:
Clear rippling of finality forgotten,
New pressing through into existence,
Her gaze a creature to its own illumination
Renewed, with steaming boundaries... ragged breath:
Living sparks to contemplate the Stars,
And Satyr forward lustful genesis.
The hidden sun plays throughout the wood
A fragant melody of Light held fast,
Of Shadow pregnant and yearning
Bursting forth in spray of life subdued,
Laid low by Rhythmic pulse
And Timeless sea of tempoed mystery.
The hoard takes form, enraged--
A battle-morning's thralling mist of
Early spirits condensate to cling...
That vast blank anticenter dares to mock
With bated fragile brandishings, the
Violent frame of peace-horizons
Stepping out of step, Undeath whining
For a loss of Truth continual. Yet
Hope is wheeling her neoteric self
Upon that sovereign evanescence
Web-like spinning still, a prior sense,
A transfinite faultline of life yet unborn,
Of death still unwrought and wrought again
In hues of growth, and dreams of change,
Waiting silently for Books of Song.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
I’m more afraid of losing you than I am of losing myself
To force one to create;
To turn the gears of the mind by force of will
Ironic;
That the source of creativity has become so artificial,
Like plastic flowers in an outdoors garden,
Not wrong,
Not dangerous,
Unsettling;
One of these things is not like the other.
Something is wrong;
This is too familiar,
I have been here before.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,
Silence is a spirit which haunts me,
Hold my tongue,
Punching my gut,
Every time brave words bloom in my throat,
This banshee screams reality in my wind-beaten face.
She is subdued by a fraternal bond, a weightless chain,
Silence is tamed by the right company,
The demon exorcised from my body,
I am sanctified in brief lucidity,
Clarity, however fleeting still exists,
Despite the holes in your brain,
The ultimate in body modification.
Every ugly duckling is told they’re a swan,
So they seek their kind,
Unable to set roots,
Assured that there is a kindred spirit,
You just have to find them.
You don’t know what you have until it’s gone,
They ugly duckling becomes more shark-like every day,
Unable to stop, a flower constantly about to wither,
With age comes beauty,
The Rhododendron expels an army of stamens,
Male in essence, coloured neon pink,
******* objects of desire for the hungry bee,
Honey and perfume,
Comfort and poison,
The children of flowers,
Opposing in nature,
Twins in function,
Sweetening, attracting, saturating,
Numbing the tongue,
Burning the nose,
So sweet I could *****
I want more time and you want more attention,
Kind gestures, kind reward,
So sweet that I’m sick.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
And while for rhymes I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fixed, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birthday, Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly:
Many such eves of gently whispering noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world's true joys,—ere the great Voice
From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.
1.5k
I’m sure it’ll be a great party
even though I’m dressed like a Barbie
it’s all in good fun
I won’t drink more than one
and they probably won’t even card me.
I’m sure the flyers aren’t serious
the cover girls all look delirious
the guys all wear suits
while the women “let loose”
but I can’t justify the criteria.
I’m sure it was one great big joke
the way your fraternal friends spoke
it wasn’t the way
you called me your bae
it’s just that I’ve never been groped.
I’m sure it wasn’t your fault
and it wasn’t really assault
so let’s just forget
the ***** and the sweat
and take it with a grain of salt.
I’m sure there’s nothing to fear
and in nine months to a year
we’ll give in to fate
and when you graduate
we can shack up and share a career.
Now I’m sure I was being naive
turns out your name wasn’t Steve
and all the support
you swore not to retort
leaves me nothing to do but to grieve.
Nov 11, 2019
Nov 11, 2019 at 2:36 AM UTC
An Aussie Couple in their middle years
had despaired of children of their own.
To fill that empty room at home
They would need a womb on loan.
A Young Thai woman without a mate
agreed to be their surrogate.
To spare them from a childless fate
Ten Thousand was the going rate.
Fraternal twins, a boy and girl,
were implanted in the Surrogate.
The little girl, a perfect child.
Her brother faced a darker fate.
A child with Down’s is often slain
before they see the light of day.
Identified pre natally,
They are aborted right away.
The surrogate, in awe of God,
would not accede to such a fate.
The “Parents” refused the “damaged goods”
and were “understandably” irate.
His “parents” wouldn’t take him home
Due to his mismatched chromosomes.
His surrogate who gave him birth
became his only friend on Earth.
One child accepted, one denied;
They say “He is no child of mine!”
The surrogate will raise him as her own;
Though he be less than kin she’s more than kind.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
It ***** when you're in love with your best friend who is also the fraternal twin brother of your ex.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
Into the darkness of midnight lies
the fall of many righteous skies
devoid of love and self-assurance
where demons thrive through perseverance
to consume innocence with haunting fears
which overshadow their victims in despair
for the hope of light burning internal
dims as concern rules the fraternal
hidden under the guise of dignified uncertainty
to follow the footprints left by predecessors
tormented by the visions of conquest
over land, possessions, and prominence
able only to behold the frailties of souls
buried deep within shallow but hollow goals
conjuring sinister thoughts to become undead
to greet fate with a hideously gruesome end
as they ***** the life out of reason and wisdom
feasting upon the remains like laughing hyenas
until the rise of daybreak only to scurry away
and eagerly await another knight to lose his way.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Debilitating laughter
at the hands of a master
a ***** minded *******
who knows what he’s after
The ever subtle asker
he caresses and flatters
his clever patter shatters
cares that should matter.
Finally, we moved to extract her
the wobbling girl from Nebraska
from a drunken fraternal disaster
and the junior poised to shaft her
Uhh, sorry to interrupt
Anna, pick her up her stuff
We gotta go home *** get up
Hey bud, touch ME and you’re ******
*** you’ve had too much ***
when tomorrow comes
if you still want to slum
you can still bed the ***
We’re waiting for an Uber
Are you starting to sober?
No babe, you didn’t screw-up
Ughh, yep, she threw up.
Feb 2, 2022
Feb 2, 2022 at 5:03 AM UTC
Please for the love of God help my people.
3.5 million U.S. citizens live on the island and are in need of help.
America you claim you want to help your people well let’s start with people who truly need it.
America your necessities are their luxuries.
Puerto Rico was not yours to begin with
But now that you’ve claimed us at least take care of us
We don’t ask for much
We are only asking for the ability to breathe and read books
I didn’t know that was such a high demand
My people are suffering
With no water to drink or bathe
We are left with the stench of hopelessness
Because America, you are more concerned with toupees
Than your own people
Yes, I did not stutter
Your people, Puerto Ricans
No not the immigrants because we are not immigrants
Our passports are twins not fraternal
Why do you like us when we hit a baseball or sing some tune on American Idol
We are doctors
We are cashiers
We are students trying to better our lives
We are a people begging for help
Do not look at us and turn away
My island was once a beautiful place where birds sang in harmony
And the coquis call smoothed the worst of souls
We don't know this island anymore because our island is America’s landfill
A place where the government tested nuclear bombs without thinking of its own people
The people are living on faint hope backed the knowledge that tomorrow probably won't be better
Why do you, America, want us like this
America you ask me why do I care so much about an island I haven't been to
I care because my roots flow back to the land 100 miles across the sea
One that I have the ability to call home from my rented home here
America, you created this land so people of all nations and backgrounds could have a chance at a better life
My people are still waiting for this promise to be fulfilled
America we beg you, help us
My people are suffering
We are tired of being the last pick for the team we didn’t even want to join
We are tired of the rottened mold you have put us in
So let this be a warning that your mold is finally falling apart because of your greed
Do not blame us for this
You are the hand clamped onto ours and forced us to cover our mouths
America, Puerto Ricans are ready to talk so we can live in harmony
All you have to do is take our hand off our mouths
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
I align myself with the notion I have it figured out .
But surreptitiously imagine traveling to the ends of the earth, until my mind is plastered with its beauty .
"But that's not a job " they say , "you can do that when you have money ."
It all comes down to the money , pieces of refined wood and words .
I have to get this morphised tree things to actually see those trees .
For how long ........
4 years
maybe 5 .........
15 ?
It displeases me, that maybe living through my worst fears could lead me to those trees .
Being confined into a little room and typing away on a ancient computer .
The smell of expired coffee and over polished leather shoes settling on my nose .
"But what if I want to be creative then ?"
"Surely you can't mean being an artist " they scold
"No.....maybe architecture or graphics design ."
They nod , "yes those seem to get you the money then ."
But architecture means making buildings.
I can't , that would require me to reprogram my hand to stop the doodles of swirly lines and unfinished thoughts .
And to draw lines of accurate straightness and concrete ideas .
Maybe I just don't want to grow up .
Yet I'm told I seem mature , held together .( the irony )
But that's because the system wants someone docile .
I just don't want to be observed,
so I squish myself into normal. Just to be grey in the sea of discolored faces .
I don't want to be picked out and ridiculed for my indecisiveness .
But that will change when I have passed their tests . To move out of their schools .
Get the piercings I wanted and feel alive when I plunge into death contained situations
But I'm not sure though . I think about the future .
Repeating thoughts to people of what I want to do .
And each time I become less and less sure .
And more and more certain I will be made grayer , more uncertain . Then be the fraternal twin of black , white and have a bright light, coaxing me into the future .
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
To Jesus you cried
Every time you had fallen off the wagon
Staring down an endless tunnel
You screamed how unfair the world had been
Yet who put you here except you, my tormentor
Needles, pipes, spoons these were your dreams
You forgot about what is on the other side of the veil
When you lost yourself floating on the ceiling
Daydreams and fickle nightmares, you got caught
Into a net that doesn't catch, it swallows
And ***** you into the bowels of Hell
Thanks for that, here I stand alone and I need you
I know how hard it is, God knows being human
The addictions are our best friend, worst ******* enemy
You forgot to look in my eyes deep and brown
And capture the love and need of a tiny child
So that child never grew up, she weeps today
Like a little six year old screaming, mommy
The hand was left outstretched and rotting
Now a pile of bones and ash, an echo
I love you as a little child must this is a rule
But you disappointed me beyond belief
Last time I saw you off in an ambulance
Sick with the demons that had ripped through your veins
I didn't believe it when I was told, hell for years I did not
Last time I spoke to you was years and years later
Sounding like you were a child with down syndrome
Who the ***** voice is this, sure as hell not what I recall
Spitting fiery lies about the man my father was
Maybe they weren't but who can believe a **** thing you say
You probably lied to and discarded him as well
You broke all our hearts, not just mine
My sister, leaving her my burden when she was but a child
How dare you break her heart the way you did, ******
Fraternal you had and you spit your acid on her as well
Making love to ***** needles dipped in sewage
Once you were a good person hands brown with work
Kindness a true value, giving the shirt off your back
Teaching about what is good in nature and spreading smiles
Once that was you but you fell in love with the devil
This is a jumbled mess but you, you love
You know exactly what the hell I am talking about
I love you but **** you
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Billions of tiny bodies
dancing with each other eternal
incessant exhibitions of physicality
in unison and harmony fraternal
distinctive in myriad ways
a part of the whole — a role it must play
for together — the bodies that dance
construct an everlasting romance
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
*There is no self reflective, only what infects that ****** ****** state of mind, fraternal and stupid. Responding to text like what it used to be, that's why nobody gets me, a dog barks at eight nineteen and I become more aware of my mortality as I lay down to sleep. Until the night became the day, I sat there with my tooth decay, we never exactly were the type of people to break bread on. I told my dad I needed new experiences every night or I couldn't write, that I like to strike matches, and sometimes they light under houses. Don't make a habit out of breaking mirrors, otherwise it will reflect poorly on you.*
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
Goodnight, my friends.
I can no longer tarry.
A man calls me to my bed,
And I should go to meet him,
To embrace him.
Though I know not his name,
I greet him as a lover,
A husband.
If I should not wake,
You will know his name.
If I should open my eyes,
You will know his name.
For there are two strangers,
Twins with opposing desires.
Fraternal in every way
But one.
Goodnight, my friends.
I go to meet the man,
To embrace him,
As a lover
And a wife.
I sleep peacefully beside,
And in the morning,
You will know his name.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:16 AM UTC
Autumn is the middle child, of Mother Moon and Father Sun
She is less cold and harsh than her eldest sister Winter
Less feisty and forward than her youngest sister Summer
She is less gentle and kind than her fraternal twin Spring
She is the middle of all her family,
Occasionally gentle like Mommy and Spring,
Sometimes feisty like Daddy and Summer,
She can even be harsh on her bad days like Winter
Do you see now, why Autumn is different?
She even goes by Fall, a nickname that Aunt Earth gave her
All those years ago
Before Auntie got sick
And Mommy got sad
Because Daddy made the flowers shun her
And Summer came home to visit later each year
And Winter stayed too long
Because her husband Frost hit her
And Spring came to tend the garden and left
And now Autumn is all but invisible
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC