Mustard
Seldom-spoken tastes and smells
Stir up moments poorly drawn,
Surface-summoned by the bells
From brumous elastic hope-sprung wells
Where each day's bucket is cast.
Let old pities prowl forlorn
In cold remembrances past,
Lurking there, mustard-bright, lost at last.
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.
