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Field of Strange Surprises


In a field of strange surprises, one chipped cup appears;
Yellow roses near the lip have faded with the years.
 
A clothesline pinned with tables, along with rusty tools,
Earns heaps of raw derision from mouths of Sunday fools.
 
They say the world is flooding and seas are black with ink.
But who knows what the truth is, and who knows what to think?
 
The end of time’s upon us, and dust coats every shelf.
But what’s the use of cleaning? Just leave that to the elf.

 

Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More The Whirligig #260
 
More Writers’ Pantry #14 at Poets and Storytellers United