My four year old son fed cygnets
with fingers so soft that the flaked bread dropped
and so bent to urge the crumbs further.
The curve of his skull approached as the chicks pecked.
I heard the aggressive hiss, saw plumes spread,
a hard cob, threatening my boy.
Colin
Colin, I would be satisfied if it started with S2 and cut the breast and
after in that one.
The story enough imo and the end fine.
Smiles.
Gary
Writer's Hood, the best poetry on the web, at http://www.writershood.com/
Poets for Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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