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by dave
Rated: E · Poetry · None · #2123548
Just up late one night chatting
Weir
By David Paul Hartman

while walking down the road back there,
you came across a frivolant weir,
all messy and muddled was his hair.
his eyes were feverish, if you dare
dry nose a twichin' some nasty stare,
flies were buzzin', stink everywhere,
you opened the door and beheld my lair.
© Copyright 2017 dave (dphartman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2123548-Weir