I stooped to spy
A butterfly,
And stuck a thistle
In my thumb.
Beheld mine eye,
The insect guy,
Then gave a whistle,
Thumb felt numb.
In stumbling, I
Impaled my thigh,
Upon the thistle,
Then, my bum.
Expansive sigh,
And then did die,
From toxic thistle,
I succumb.
by aforgrave, April 9th, 2012.
April is National Poetry Month. Check out budtheteacher ‘s NPM2012 Daily Prompts, and unleash your inner poet!
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