Roughly as poetic as a bag of smashed arseholes.







Scribble back.


Monday, 17 January 2011

5. Puddles

Move, skip, jump
A child’s foot in the lily-puddle’s eye
Ripples graced by humankind reflected in the sky
As graceful as a dancing bear,
As light-hearted as a woodland nymph
Echoing in the cavernous coils of the common mind
Rolling on into the emptiness,
Where the patterns begin again

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