| |
They talked about the Golden Fleece
and kept on their small farm some geese
but only their pubescent niece
was kind enough to pray for peace.
The hay inside the barn grew old
and grew the smell of musty mold.
One day the farm was simply sold
in an exchange for shiny gold.
The niece stayed back to hope and pray
the geese fell ill to her dismay.
Their cattle ate the rotten hay
and died as someone had to pay.
The Gods sent storms and heavy rain
to wash away the tears and pain
the farm blew down, the end was plain
Gods always seem to act in vain.
The praying niece was suffocated
all life had been obliterated.
The Devil though had contemplated
that Heaven was quite overrated.
Is there a lesson here to learn?
Imprinted like a rubber burn.
For those whose introvert concern,
to pray. No Flyer Points to earn.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend