Winter Poesy

Winter Poesy

Dedicated to Debra's Legs Clad In Her Furry Boots

And so we spat at Creeping Jenny
In her shattered lattice-work coffin.
And burnt all those Petunias
On a pyre made of rose briar.
Don't go gentle into that cold night?
Ha! We stamped on their withered, clinging fingers.
Never again shall they see the sunlight
And so, like a crippled bumble bee
Choking on a shard of frozen honey
The flowers die in the garden.
But Debra's legs go on forever!

Comments

[Debra's Legs]

You say that we go on forever.
A nice sentiment, we think.
But when composing please remember
Your verses don't improve with drink.

[stephenb]

Oh yes indeed they do. That was a three egg nog effort.