~~ ~~ 1 ~~ ~~
Guests on the terrace, more guests in the hall—
Is there no way to get rid of them all?
Where did they come from, and when will they go?
The longer they stay here, the deeper my woe.
~~ ~~ 2 ~~ ~~
We fed some ducks in Iceland, and then we had a bite
Of something cold and glittering that made us feel uptight.
The teams upon the hillsides were just about to faint,
But suddenly revived themselves by slurping leaded paint.
The moral of this story, if moral there may be:
What is good for you, my friend, may not be good for me.
~~ ~~ 3 ~~ ~~
The swordsman’s blade was melting before his very eyes;
The axe man’s axe felt lighter than sunlight on mayflies;
The oak tree’s massive branches shrank to pencil-thin—
It was a creepy summer, and never should have been.
Poems © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #176
More Poetry Pantry #416 at Poets United