cheryl davis miller

Veteran Poet - 1,261 Points (2/26/57 / America)

Madness

In the winding wood's of Caroline
there on pathway's up and down.
Nestled neath the pines and green fronds
he said our bodies, would be found.

One hand held to a pint of moonshine
the other bore a twenty-two.
Hours of marching on as he taunted
his threats had always, proven true.

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