The Pond
No pondlife was harmed in the making of this poem.
By Paul WilsonPublished 3 years ago • 1 min read
Like
Share
Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash
On summer days I'm rather fond,
Of looking at my garden pond.
Of watching life beneath the water,
Wondering whether or not I ought to,
Just get rid of it.
Because was eaten by my dog,
The other day, a little frog.
Poor Thor was sick for a week,
And so my vengeance I shall wreak,
Upon the horrid pit.
Into it I shall pour,
A little bleach, then a little more.
Till everything within is dead,
And over it lay concrete bed.
Aren't I a nasty git?
Like
Share
About the Creator
Paul Wilson
On the East Coast of England (halfway up the righthand side). Have some fiction on Amazon, World's Apart (sci-fi), and The Runechild Saga (a fantasy trilogy - I'm a big Dungeons and Dragons fan).
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.