Sunday, August 05, 2012


The finches flit and flirt
but scandalously skirt
the cover of a cozy copse
their inner shame inert

and as a plump one plops
his happy honey hops
their conjugation rather curt
the stalemate never stops.


Dave King said...

This is both humerous and somewhat sad. Delightful read.

rch said...

Thanks Dave that's what I was hoping for. 8^D