deepundergroundpoetry.com
Nocturne She Spun
My muse has thought it high time to return
from the urn, a ghastly nocturne she spun
giving me the cold shoulder and a chill
picking a fine time to leave me, no words to spill
around a group of poets and forget-me-nots
of pot eaters wearing wife beaters of polka dots
a few came in friendship and homeruns
oh dear! one had a potbelly gun
stuck to his waistcoat with chewing gum
from the urn, a ghastly nocturne she spun
assembled for fun in the shadow of the sun
from the urn, a ghastly nocturne she spun
giving me the cold shoulder and a chill
picking a fine time to leave me, no words to spill
around a group of poets and forget-me-nots
of pot eaters wearing wife beaters of polka dots
a few came in friendship and homeruns
oh dear! one had a potbelly gun
stuck to his waistcoat with chewing gum
from the urn, a ghastly nocturne she spun
assembled for fun in the shadow of the sun
Published 6th Feb 2023
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6th Feb 2023 3:57pm
6th Feb 2023 3:59pm
6th Feb 2023 4:04pm
6th Feb 2023 4:05pm
