Hornet - Poem by Graham Fowell
The ghost of a million blades of grass
Haunt my Grandad's shed.
That's where he kept the piece of kit
That made them all so dead.
I think they try and frighten it
Or keep it up all night
So when he next time pulls the chord
It can't cut grass for shite.
Comments about Hornet by Graham Fowell
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You