Toot Suite
TOOT SUITE
Alas, as hunters treed their prey
envisioning the feast
gravied meal at end of day
sopped up in breaded yeast.
An ill wind blew
and no one knew
from where it emanated
As sugar in the innards boils
and then - a little toot uncoils
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment