The drink was paraquat, the promised kiss
was pain and death. One rots in shallow scoop,
the other views forever with blind eyes.
The first will crown the village pile with his
stripped skull and ooze, with rain, down seaward slope,
the other leans to learn the sea's long sighs.
Arthur, a horrid tale, but the way children are.
Thanks.
Gary
who once stole some homebrew and could have been in your work
Feb guest is TE Ballard and Gar does garbage at:
http://gardawg.homestead.com/gardawg.html,
Poets for Peace. ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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