Benjamin Posted March 28, 2017 Share Posted March 28, 2017 When asked how long she'd pricked her 'raggy' rugs; Grandmother smiled and said: “Ooh! Donkey's years!” Charred crocodiles of logs spat from the hearth: Dragons and snakes, flickered on parchment walls. And life was filled with colour, warmth and light That raised a chuckle when she told a tale.. The Fat Mayor and his Cock-a-doodle Hat: Squashed!! By his 'put upon' pet elephant. Comeuppance from the mightily oppressed: Contained within her mesmerising yarn.. My morning percolator's bean-fed wraiths, Disperse in fragrant wisps of minutiae: That forty days of rain may come again. That destruction and creation, are the left And right hand of some ancient cosmic force. And I-- who store smidgens of many things Which took a lifetime in the gathering; Confess, none of them help me to explain Want and Starvation to a nascent child, Whose thoughts are owned by all things digital. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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