By Thomas Page

290

Ebullient feelings,

Like flambéd meringue, rest upon

The base beneath it

 

291
Leaves hued with yellow

Falling gently on parents

Playing with their child

 

292
The cogs work beneath

The face of a clock ticking

Away on a wall

 

293
The bird feeder, prey

Of those who fear predators,

Torn asunder by hooves

 

294
A thousand whispers

Shriek in an open room, a

Battlefield of sound

 

295

A rock breaking the

Surface of a tranquil pond

Will be consumed whole

 

296
Crocodile tears

A display, acted pathos

Dammed river water

 

297
A blanched skull displayed

With flowers and fruits—

Juxtaposed winter and spring

 

298
At the bottom of

The ocean there may be a

Precious jewel unknown

 

299
A pearl is crafted

By chance in a mollusk’s mouth—

Fortune’s prized product

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