He looked in all his books,
consulted what he'd learned.
No answer, found by crooks.
His head, now crashed and burned
wrapped up in yellow straw,
devoid of solemn seeds
thus doomed by ancient law,
entangled by old weeds.
It seeped, like pale, spare blood
until the Gods convened.
And just like Elmer Fudd
he never knew his fiend.
Excellent, Herbert. What more can I say? There is wry humor, too, and I always find that to my liking. Raynette
This poem is proof that writer writes exceptional during distress, very powerful in emotion here herbert, and vivid in much betrayal, much sorrow.: ( Beautiful poem.
Very dramatic work Herbert, I think it had a fortitude about it's search. A strength of character that realises it's own indisputable talent. A poem that speaks for itself. Excellent work. Nice pic by the way, I had a peak! lol You look like a man who can do whatever he wants. Some women have all the luck! lol Grinning playfully of course! Tai
An enchantingly imagey write, Herbsy, powerfully conveying a sense of death and extinction of the powers of the mind, if not of the body. A further piece of proof that your writing powers remain in full force. As I say Herbs, if you give up writing, in my view, it will be incorrect to attribute this to diminished ability on your part. Best wishes, Gina. (Yes, 'best wishes'. I need a break from 'love'!) : -)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Out of adversity comes strength, pure, undiluted! Don't forget that, Herbert