Naps



It's an anomalous thing, perhaps
To rearrange the rooms without a lamp lit
Like an atlas without maps, puzzling a bit
Behind shades that is until, something snaps
One hand claps
The other



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 568 times
Written on 2018-09-08 at 16:13

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