Array ( [sid] => 184665 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Fusty Little Twig [time] => 2017-11-27 06:23:39 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Fusty Little Twig

Into a pretty petite pool, we jumped;
birds of the same quill giggling
and splattering sprays of water,
an innocent battle of ecstasy.

Like light cotton candy rolls,
melted seasons cascading yonder
behind the dark mysterious
mountains of years, so changed shades of
the feather beyond recognition!

Priorities of lives, reason to smile turned
mortal so devious as one held possession
of an old common fusty little twig in the pool,
pet prideful priceless possession for few, willing
to humiliate and kill even! Petite pool no
more pretty, but a murky poignant,
pitiful pool of tragic tainted season of life.

Nevertheless, sat a wise old-timer up on the branch,
went tweeting otherwise – “As the saying goes;”
He said;
“Doomed are those who shall revere thy
proud possession as god - but GOD Himself;
may it be a fusty little twig on earth…”

“Ho! Whatever…” said the foolish bird in the pool
and held on to its proud possession as god.
©FRANCO
[comments] => 0 [counter] => 109 [topic] => 27 [informant] => Franco [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => NaturePoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Fusty Little Twig


Fusty Little Twig
Date: Monday, 27th November 2017 @ 06:23:39 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Franco
Fusty Little Twig

Into a pretty petite pool, we jumped;
birds of the same quill giggling
and splattering sprays of water,
an innocent battle of ecstasy.

Like light cotton candy rolls,
melted seasons cascading yonder
behind the dark mysterious
mountains of years, so changed shades of
the feather beyond recognition!

Priorities of lives, reason to smile turned
mortal so devious as one held possession
of an old common fusty little twig in the pool,
pet prideful priceless possession for few, willing
to humiliate and kill even! Petite pool no
more pretty, but a murky poignant,
pitiful pool of tragic tainted season of life.

Nevertheless, sat a wise old-timer up on the branch,
went tweeting otherwise – “As the saying goes;”
He said;
“Doomed are those who shall revere thy
proud possession as god - but GOD Himself;
may it be a fusty little twig on earth…”

“Ho! Whatever…” said the foolish bird in the pool
and held on to its proud possession as god.
©FRANCO


This poem is Copyright © Franco


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