More Crap Poetry

Following the discovery of my schoolgirl poetry anthology, I bring you another scribbling from my ten-year-old self. I have left in the spelling mistakes as it adds to the charm, if not the comprehension. Not that it makes much sense anyway…

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Fog

Lord of darkness spreads his mystifing cloak on the sleepy air,

The stillness falls over the bold trees which stand still in pairs.

A sense of insecurity finds its way into every heart,

Perplexing, haunted things begin to start.

Silhouetted on the frosted sky,

A huntsman can be seen riding by.

A cry of a widowed woman echoes all around,

Horns of unicorns sing with such mellow sound.

Devil, dragon, fairy and trog

What causes this magic?

Why, it’s just fog.

Well, where do you start with this one? I think I must have had quite an aversion to fog, judging by the dark nature of the images conjured here. Although I am impressed I knew the word ‘perplexing’, the ‘begin to start’ at the end of that line puts my teeth on edge. And since when do unicorn horns sing? A slightly cheerier image than the crying widowed woman, I suppose. The inclusion of ‘trog’ in the third to last line is a very lazy rhyme for fog, in my opinion. The bit about the huntsman is quite good, though.

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