my little nephew
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It Who no longer can listen It Saw a gusty wind Come up to listen Before I was ten and all of the evil grids From a hill where rats consider And they gang And they topple And they send a smoke ring Into the onion field A ghost! And this can make you choke Coming from the throat Of a ghost! And sent to my weak knees From a voice plantation All in together In terror
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About Me
- thomas
- Welcome to my online scrapbook: there is no real focus here but you will find writings about music, literature, arts, walks, 80s and 90s nostalgia etc., some creative writing, lots of photography and other experiments in presenting thoughts and recordings of who i am, what i do and where i am going. hope you enjoy it!
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