Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist
poliphilo

11,11,11

                                11,11,11

 

                                Up until a minute before

                                The silence spread its soft grey plumage

                                The brave old guns were bumping and jumping,

                                Spitting out shells as never before.

                                And this was down to the common soldiers

                                Wanting to use up every last shell

                                On the foe they knew they’d be shaking hands with,

                                Waltzing with in a comic clinch,

                                On the other side of that spread of plumage.
 

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