Fee Fie Foe Fum
I smell the blood
in clock’s tocked hum.
I wish I may I wish I might
before this night.
Georgie Porgie puddin’ pie–
cross my heart–even these
Yet we, nimble, play at quick,
as if it twinkled like a star
But Time’s the old King Col(d) of all;
Time makes us roll uphill
of rock and string, of rubber band,
through slipping, sliding, shifting
and if we let the knave of tarts
steal away our
then e’en before we tumble down
we’re jacking up
a broken crown.
So, let us please be quite contrary,
not shells of others’
and gather rosebuds, though they be thorned
about our own skins, though they’re torn–
Drafty poem for Real Toads Open Platform. Pic is mine, all rights reserved for it (as well as draft poem.)