Washing-line musings
I have inherited pleasure:
the rhythm of pegs, the smell
of buttery sun on sheets,
a whispering murmur of trees
standing around, and the company
of magpies inspecting
with one eye looking for worms.
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.
