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Marcus Ten Low Poem
If chicken soup is for the soul,
Where does the chicken's soul go?
When all the soup's drained from its bowl,
What sort of life did that chicken know?
Copyright © Marcus Ten Low | Year Posted 2019
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Details |
Marcus Ten Low Poem
I have a home with harbour views.
I like to walk after the rains.
The TV’s turned on to the news.
My body’s full of pains.
I’ve slept and slept until the walls
Echo with softness at my groans.
I’ve slept hard through the distant calls
And motorcars with drones.
So frowning, if I must get up,
I blanket-wrap myself,
And pour away the coffee cup,
And tidy-up the shelf.
Copyright © Marcus Ten Low | Year Posted 2017
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