Child Cemetery: Poetry of Jeffrey Merk
Updated: Mar 6
All the king’s men were chased into a gully
By Lemming Legions in progress’ name.
The rain isn’t that cold to my skin,
Though my brain is freezing cold.
I would like to warn them, but I think
It would make them crazier to know.
In the next cubicle are men play cards.
It’s something to quarrel over, as they
Shriek and laugh, like Ogres in old
Storybooks we have all forgotten.
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