Dung

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Darkest drowning blackest death
Heed the seed of Devils breath
Shrew and cunning taps the tune
Come to see the spore in bloom
Take away a haze of gaze
Twisted turn this phrase has made
Quilted quaint forgotten son
Sung to angels now become
Rotted to the core of dung

Posted by Richard Handley at 2:12 AM  

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Hi folks, I'm a software development manager. I've worked with computers most of my life. I write a poem a day about whatever strikes my fancy. I hope they make you smile.