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Natalia Lee Poem
Sickly sickly treacle trickley
seeps on, mouldering down the crock.
Stickily sticky it steadily, trickily
keeps on for many a round of the clock.
I wonder I wonder if I would turn green
Should I gutsily plunder its festering urn,
Or should I desecrate such a picnic-y scene
If I’d gently expire or clamorously burn.
Quickly quickly treacle slickly
Drippily dribbles down onto the floor—
‘Fore I can supply my sick wonder
The trickley treacle has trickled off and is no more.
Copyright © Natalia Lee | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Natalia Lee Poem
14/03/22
A little boy sat all alone
Beneath a dying throttler tree
Through which’s branches, bare and cold
The wind cavorted mournfully.
Upon his lap was lain a bract
The final of a lost array
With which he tied a dismal knot,
Kissed once, then twice, then tossed away
Cruelly on shone bright the moon,
As the boy in silence wept
And with the swift-departing tree
He slowly
slowly
slowly
Slept.
Copyright © Natalia Lee | Year Posted 2022
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