The POTW: Verse Til It Hurts


POTW #828
(Week of 3 February, 2013)

This is the poem I meant to write last week, before I was intercepted by the sunbeam. Some things seem like a great idea at first. (I don't mean the poem. At least I hope I don't.) Inspired not by a person, but by an actual morning glory.

Morning Glory, Evening Gory

The promise of her purple blooms
Her lush and healthy fashion sense
She'd weave a lovely leafy loom
To cover up that ugly fence

But then she climbed the neighbors' tree
And choked the poor defenseless sage
With vigor I did not foresee
She wandered fruitful like the plague

With appetite and disregard
Her tentacles were everywhere
She covered the entire yard
She had the squirrels running scared

And winter nipped those purple blooms
The leaves and all the vivid green
And left her in the foulest mood
So brown and barren and obscene

I really ought to think things through
I might avoid this kind of trouble
There's only one thing left to do
I'll go and fetch my trusty shovel

Copyright © 2013 by Dave Grossman

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