A Fun Surrealistic Poem

In the stump of the old tree where the heart has rotted out.
There's a hole the length of a man's arm.
And a dank pool at the bottom of it.
Where the rain gathers.
And the old leaves turn into lacy skelingtons.
But don't put your hand down to see
Because...

In the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out.
There are holes the length of a man's arm.
And dank pools at the bottom.
Where the rain gathers.
And old leaves turn to lace.
And the beak of a dead bird gapes like a trap.
But don't put your hand down to see
Because...

In the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out.
There are holes the length of a man's arm.
Where the weasels are trapped
And the letters of the rook language are laced on the sodden leaves
And at the bottom there's a man's arm.
But don't put your hand down to see
Because...

In the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out.
There are deep holes and dank pools.
Where the rain gathers.
And if you ever put your hand down to see.
You can wipe it in the sharp grass till it bleeds 
But you'll never want to eat with it again!

Home