A rumor made the round,
gliding slowly like a fat skurzing
fly. Before peaking, my attention
got briefly piqued. I lost interest
and swatted down the rumor.
After wiggling its dirty legs,
it died on its back.
hans ostrom 2018
Nice poem on rumor. Well said in just few words. Thanks for sharing, Hans.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Grapevine can lead to graveyard for someone's good name... Liked reading.10+++