Poem -
wet socks + wrinkled feet.
Wasn't I who stood
At waters edge
with foam a'swirl upon my shoes
with wet socks on the wrinkled
feet
Whilst blowing winds made moon
retreat and,
Waves rise up in shocking form
Devouring
the swaying night, no
Was not I
who might have strolled
Into the depths
Devoid of fight,
t'was not I,
M ~
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Comments
Hello Marion...
It can rain a lot here...
Dry socks can begin to feel weird with no sloshing sound and feet with no wrinkles...
Weird indeed!
Great write!
Thank you for sharing...
sparrowsong
Thanks S...appreciated as always x
Immensely beautiful. And a wonderful message of not giving up. 🌹
Shirley, I'm probably flooding you...so sorry, just catching up. Thanks so much my friend x
I would be so very cross had it been you .. but you old girl, tho tired, remain something of a quiet, but formidable fighter .. x
Shit, I thought I hid it well but yes...I've 2 polished swords and a Boudica hat when needed. I also recently requested to be buried with my hammer which I've had for donkeys years and could never be without. I quite worried myself at that
new found bit of myself... so please don't even try to analyse lol
it would be messy 🤩😆😆 X
You did, but I have an in-built mental detector & I just love messy 🤩😆😆 X