The Weaker Poetry Bloggers, One Year Into The Apocalypse… #Weak

‘Twas on a night near end of Spring

When I was asked to write a thing

Describing how the flowers bloomed

Even though humanity’s doomed.

“Roses are red“, so started my verse

“And violets are blue, unlike that hearse.”

And then I decided since I’d end up dead

To quit writing poems and play golf instead.

So wrote a lesser poet just days

Before he was eaten by the undead horde.

When apocalypse comes, I’ll struggle in ways

But never complain that, when writing, I’m bored.

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