Toad Pods Poem by John Sensele

Scan scale pans that weigh woes
Felt with fright fixed
Somehow by foes
Who wish mixed

Fortunes could flow and float boats
Coats and toasts where heroes
Turn and return ordinary oats
To metamorphose heroes into zeroes

Cynics see as prizes they lumber members
Who pander to pounds of plums
Picked, pocketed and pounded by embers
In business districts and silly slums

Where women and widows wallow
In poverty paid for by pantheons of goofy gods
Whose yellow and callow in a wheelbarrow
Scare scores of urchins who dance in toad pods.