Misgivings Poem by Singleton M. Tate
Misgivings
It's all to his misfortune,
The swine's reluctant to say,
The furnace is getting hotter,
It just might stay this way.
Before the arctic blast,
Limits movement in the town,
Every person will look stiff,
As Spring may never come around.
Our bleeding hearts are silent,
Pray in earnest this solemn night,
Don't be shy, it's bound to happen.
The pig will die without a fight.
Open-ended Style:
Not restrained by definite limits, restrictions, or structure.
A style that's all about 'The Message'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/24/2024 2:33:45 PM # 1.0.0.1119
