The Hill Song

Had none to build
None liked to blend
Really ugly?
Pecked at will
Chortled at bill
So forlorn, so despondent
Done wrong?
Cold treatment’s mere understatement
What’s vertical, what’s horizontal?
What ought to be altered?
    Dry spell passes without fanfare
    Grasping in next to no time
    Dawdling transformation but surely
    That magical moment
    Soaring loftily
    Physical repugnance no more!
    Being beautiful being
    Cloud nine colonisation
    Revolutionised life!
    At long last!
Published in: on Monday, March 12, 2007 at 12:57 am  Comments (2)  
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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. This poem says so much but within such contained form – brilliant!

  2. You are kind, Atyllah! Thanks!

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