Somerset Wellington Poem by Bruce Ruston
Somerset Wellington
Under the gnarly trees
of the Somerset apple
where the summer sighs
In the orchard
of gladden'd grass, your clothes
held teased and terse
Your playground skin
abases mine
and sways my mood
With breaths viable tease
my finger upon your talk
we've started this wrong
Don't wade in with wellies
when a feather will do
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4/29/2024 4:04:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
