Thimble
Would you have me turnedIn this doorway?
Or at the end of the long
Corridor?
Hemmed petticoats
Look ever so pretty and billow
Without fraying...
But neat underneaths cannot
Stop top layers slaying the
Unintentionals.
The sun will rise
Whatever we do
Let's not grimace or dawdle.
Let us loiter sometimes
So we can listen
One to the other.
Race to finish the hatreds
That billow unattended.
On which finger fits this
Bloody thimble?
Poetry by jenks
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Written on 2011-04-27 at 02:10
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