Well, I couldn't sleep tonight without writing a poem for the greenest day of the year. The last line doesn't flow perfectly but I can't think of a solution.
Some people claim to see them
Time and time again:
The tiny guards of treasure –
Surly, drunk, green men.
They guard the pots of treasure,
A legend long foretold,
Taken by some shoemakers –
How I could use that gold!
The impish little leprechauns
Hid it in an emerald field.
They won’t just tell – so make them
Surrender secrets long concealed.
Surrender secrets long concealed.
2 comments:
"Throttle them and maybe
the secret will be revealed" ???
Or maybe use 'concealed' in some way?
Nice one, again, Nicholas.
Thank you for the advice; works much better now. Thanks for the compliments as always!
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