An old broken-down house,
gently swaying in the wind,
sang,
sweetly and slowly,
Inside the wood chipper.
It was cold and stormy,
dreaming,
At Exactly 4:03 AM,
it was dumb,
but birds can fly,
So, maybe peasants do run the world.
The red socks,
died.
I love the image of an old house singing...I think mine does at night, when the wind blows.
ReplyDelete