Nonsense 8 Poem by Phil Soar

Nonsense 8



A filigree feather falls from the sky
And drifts down on the ground
The bird lands right beside it
Just after the awful sound
Shot with a hunters rifle
And falling from the sky
To end up in a trifle
Or maybe a Pigeon pie

Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: nonsense
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