Wednesday, December 3, 2008

A Poem (Appologies to Tyrus)

Away through the night the winged Thrasher doth fly.
Where does he go?
No one knows.
Why doth he suck?
No one cares.

2 comments:

Mortimer Peacock said...

Beautiful, Razor. Thank you for sharing. Myself, I'm composing a tragedy about the Thrashers, entirely in iambic pentameter.

Big Shooter said...

Wow. Reached back a long time to get that one didn't you Razor!

Always enjoy reading that masterpiece.