Marches Of Gold
A Goodbye To Foreign Rain; The Curation — July Poetry Prompt
Summer’s Harvest Comes Under The Foreign Rain — A Poem To Refrain The Man
Settle yer lots down for this fine metal —
Etched and ripe for our lots;
Shaun as the shores —
Ready to laud —
Shine that young metal — why won’t you young boy,
And that will further us to ado —
Bright as the pied pebbled beaches;
Paid as the grand fabrications —
It was so stemmed from.
Settle yerself down, for a field is to be sunk—
Farrow out the spuds;
Grassy up our lots —
For the man doesn’t —
Like to be kept a-waiting.
Spindle the sheath, tally our shield,
And be dryer ever still —
With this heartening down,
By the summer’s heat to be tilled —
A poem comes sunken in summer Sinking in the flowers of colors — Tallying a city to verge the countryside, Without the prime that takes one to fright A poem falls ever further in a ferrying song, Come dancing, to the country boy’s splendid eyes, To this woman’s slender asides Come dancing, to the refrain, in open faces, Gaiety profoundly at heart Come on home tonight
A heated poem now refrained, Hear the views that peddle the music, Of a sunken summer, Wherein the girl loses her love, Through the crush of the years; A heat poem now refrained, Care to fondle that view, Of a sunken summer, Where girls lose their lovers, Through the crush of the season.
Settle yer lots down for the colder steel —
Abject in the workings ye do
An ass collapses
As the jealousy to be found
Sinks the Man into his place —
Just in his now worldly view;
Flush in his face, that settles lots —
Ready to laud —
Shine that young metal — why won’t you young boy,
He sings — whilst a cold steel guitar remains
Rotted to the woods;
He fondles that view.
No clear heart —
Settle yer lots down for the truth by sill —
For the Man doesn’t —
Like to be kept a-waiting.
Spindle the sheath, tally our shield,
And be dryer ever still —
With this heartening down,
By the summer’s heat to be tilled —
Cripst and settled —
Let him tender his lots now;
Whilst evermore, girls lose their hearts
And purity to the scandals
Of young boys — roped around the neck;
Cripst and settled —
He watches now to abide the abode…
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