The Great Desolation Poem by Francie Lynch
The Great Desolation
The enemy occupies a familiar battleround,
And the reduction begins,
First by attrition,
Then like waddling ducks on my lawn,
After the swirling storm.
A great desolation
Is sucked to the centre of the funnel;
And within earshot
Off the guilty,
They fall over the cliff,
In a flutter of molted feathers.
Monday, July 15, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: ducks,war
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8/28/2026 3:46:40 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
