A Magpie Tale…
Five hundred and nine-nine
A gaping whole,
a mouth that swallows up the trees, sky, grass.
My eye is drawn.
in spite of the
rows and rows of leaves that all looked the same
yet I pieced them together
(it took hours),
I just can’t overlook it.
This is part of Magpie Tales, a writing community.
This is also part of my own Free-write February. Or Feel Free to Write February. Or Just Write, dammit. Whatever you want to call it.
Some of it is crappy, some of it is not. I’m exercising my writing muscles in the vast caverns of the blogosphere.
I don’t have a question for you today since the theme of the above poem is about imperfections and I don’t want to focus on those. Or maybe I should. It always makes for interesting writing. All right, I’ll ask it. What imperfections are blemishing your perfect world today?