Let the Lint Fall Where It May
Posted by magicalmysticalteacher
Let the lint fall where it may,
In the dirt or in the hay.
The clock is stuck at half-past one,
Desolation has begun;
Now the table won’t be set
For the meal I’d hoped to get.
Things have turned out to be worse
Than this twisted, tortured verse.
All my feelings go awry
When a stick’s poked in my eye,
And the sound of heavy metal
Grinding every flower petal
Seems to last for forty years—
Who will wipe away my tears?
More The Whirligig #253
More Writers’ Pantry #7 at Poets and Storytellers United
Posted on February 16, 2020, in light verse, Rhyming poetry, The Whirligig and tagged clock, dirt, feelings, forty, let, lint, many, meal, metal, one, stuck, turned. Bookmark the permalink. 17 Comments.
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