Peril Poetry

A poem

*And the pencil was sharpen’d,
Sharp it was.
Like a spear
Piercing the snowy white paper.
It’s sharpness making mortals quake,
And grown men cry.
And badgers were overcome,
With terr’ble, terr’ble

*Originally posted here*

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *