A* Very* Small* Word Poem by James McLain
A* Very* Small* Word
Mamma said:
Vibrent stone mountain hidding grace
mirthful tree in glee.
Foghead top creased of bark dog stops.
Roaring wind down through the
hollar cease.
Shaking body twitching toes would
you come to know.
Eyes rolled up to you would think
him dead.
Spell of magic none have heard
before.
Books have serects all would come
to dread.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
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5/10/2024 8:32:58 PM # 1.0.0.1119
