The Dance of the Dung Beetle
A sharp aroma seeps across the sky, You scurry to its source; Working quickly to carefully craft A sustaining sphere of pungent spice. With cargo
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
A sharp aroma seeps across the sky, You scurry to its source; Working quickly to carefully craft A sustaining sphere of pungent spice. With cargo
A distant sun sets over reddened lands, As ripples lay before you like a wave; Try reach out with your cold, synthetic hands, And touch