Contraptions
When I was arranging daffodils
you send in tanks.
The sky was overcast.
When I was talking to clouds
Fireballs are delivered.
That signals the specific gravity
is shifting to knobs.
The artist was going
to disappear.
I think of faithfulls.
How beautifully they talk of
two moons.
I had decided to quit
when you send in a hymn.
poem by Satish Verma
Added by Poetry Lover
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