Here are some poems, composed by a puppet,

some are my own and some of them not.

You can like one, or quite like them all,

or simply not like them a hell of a lot.


x



Monday 26 March 2012

Bereft.

No longer do we skip and play
as sunlight brightly fills the bay.
Our world has spun, it's getting cool,
the sea now has to stick to rules
and follow orders to file out
filling an ocean roundabouts
the way and go, not feeling bold
as we shiver against the cold.

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