Brood
Over solemn matters men brood.
Whoever does not clearly crude;
One is anxious to win a feud:
The face of Jude facing The Rude
And I say: it’s the right mood;
The countenance of The Shrewd,
For when it is shrewd follows food.
Over the life-changing I brood
As I wish to hear The Good;
Not like leaves shake where I’ve stood
Or, soonest, start mouthing The Rude
And sorrow drowning in The Brewed.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
