"tring" poems - Hello Poetry

AMBIGRAM VIII Recto: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascending as the tethering string is slackened: Verso: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascend- ing as the tethering string is slackened. AMBIGRAM Recto: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascending as the tethering string is slackened: Verso: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascend- ing as the tethering string is slackened. AMBIGRAM Recto: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascending as the tethering string is slackened: Verso: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascend- ing as the tethering string is slackened. AMBIGRAM Recto: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascending as the tethering string is slackened: Verso: Yesterday was Christmas, and the days already start to grow a little longer. In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger though more fragile too in many ways than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened trees along a river. So sit back and raise your glasses to it, do the conga, auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And And black and white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened in the morning haze, ascend- ing as the tethering string is slackened.

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Dec 27, 2011

Dec 27, 2011 at 3:26 PM UTC

peter-oram

AMBIGRAM VIII