About Articles Poetry Video Images Services Events
Edited Words: 152,263
Articles: 180
Poems: 52
Videos: 25
Images: 10

May 2, 2006


Past a pretty pebble pond,
above the carp and vernal frond,
there was a place not far beyond
where on my own I would abscond.

I took a stick, a little thing,
and tied to it a piece of string.
Sometimes, perhaps, I'd even sing,
or scratch another nettle sting.

While crouching there upon the grass
with little legs and skinny arse
the fish would simply just swim past
each and every time I cast.

At night I snuggled on my bed;
the covers drawn above my head;
inside my personal homestead;
safely walled by cotton thread.

I guess that I have come to see
that children live so tenderly,
and through the grief and in the glee,
it's tender, too, inside of me.

"So beautiful Duncan" — Carol

"Very sweet poem. The arse bit, which you slipped in, is funny." — Mikaela

"This is cute and reminded me of Christopher Robin." — Laura

"Nice!" — Charley

"That rhyme was so cute and innocent." — Basi


Font: S M L
Receive by email:
Designed by Duncan Riach RSS Feed Icon   Site Map Copyright © 2006 Duncan Riach. All rights reserved.