She was plump, prickly, and precocious
He was pudgy, spiny, and altogether inglorious
Yet, he dreamed of loving her under the moon
To the cricket’s song
Alas, this tale of woe
He came upon her in the glen
Offering Lemon grass, in hopes of being more than friends
Pointedly, she turned her back
An urchin-like boulder
He threw himself upon her spikey rebuff
His last act of love
Simply to hold her
Comments
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I see your brevity and wit
carries over into your poetry. I wanted to read your work based off of comments from Dalaney's group. This sparks quite the mental scene. I'm especially taken by the thought of love making to the cricket's song. Masterfully executed.
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Awesome!
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