Watching the spirited waves
he thought of writing a poem.
The cynic inside peeped out
“Oh God, yet another one!”
Then, let it be on the live fishes
in fishermen's nets.
But, all those strong enough
slipped out of the grotto of metaphors.
Now, it's only those tiny ones
dead long before.
Let the gulls feast on it.
he thought of writing a poem.
The cynic inside peeped out
“Oh God, yet another one!”
Then, let it be on the live fishes
in fishermen's nets.
But, all those strong enough
slipped out of the grotto of metaphors.
Now, it's only those tiny ones
dead long before.
Let the gulls feast on it.
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