FOUR CORNERS
25th June 2019
1 Comment
Four corners I have In one are buried my ancestors. In the next There sleeps a cooking pot. Over the third thatched roof has a hole through that rain and sun peep, There is also a plastic flower, brought from fair ages ago, now Sullied with soot. And in the darkest There is a cot, lousy Worm-infested, And when when we sit It creaks.