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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #1857882
His job doesn't pan out so well.
Do’ Tell exhaled a lot of air
when on his feet or in a chair.
The job he got was apropos
for it allowed Do’ Tell to blow.

A whistle blower, somewhat frail,
yet Do was happy to exhale.
Do laughed and smiled each fine day,
he blew the whistle, come what may.

But then one day with whistle lipped,
he blew hard and assumed he slipped.
For decibels increased for sure,
and it then caused a great big stir.

Do’ Tell objected to the light
that focused on him bold and bright.
And for a time he had to squint
and utter words unfit to print.

Do wondered now about his role
and felt like crawling in a hole.
Where once that whistle seemed so clean,
Do now considered it obscene.

Then late one night the clouds withdrew
and starry skies impressed him, too.
Do realized that their soft light
spoke clear to him despite their height.

Do’ Tell departed whistle blow
to work where stars emit their glow.
Planetarium from blower--
Do looks high to lights much lower.

Lines 28
(SR: 8)




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