when a viking ship
not an empty bottle
meander, to clear
the headlands’ once
without a lance,
no bear grease in BC
the saddle slope
what time that’s lucky,
as the ash flicks
sideway to the water
Poetry
when a viking ship
not an empty bottle
meander, to clear
the headlands’ once
without a lance,
no bear grease in BC
the saddle slope
what time that’s lucky,
as the ash flicks
sideway to the water
AHhhhhh…what kind of ash would that be by the by?
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From a campfire, on a windy night; and he didn’t find the old gold.
Or, he fell asleep smoking, reading Beowulf, near the kindlin’.
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