Evening Queerditch Pub Ficlet
Well, I wrote two things, both poems (I admit that freely, to give people a chance to run away). The second was corny to an embarrassing degree. The first was not too bad, so I'm posting it here. It's very short--just a little over the hundred-word limit of a drabble.
Terzanelle for a Winter Love
Theirs has always been a winter world
Filled with a threat of a gathering storm,
And those who wept while bagpipes skirled.
Death comes so oft, it seems the norm.
A far-off rumble, and snow-scented air's
Filled with the threat of a gathering storm.
They know about half-hopeless prayers
Said neath a silent, opaque sky.
A far-off rumble, and snow-scented air's
Ambushes, like a tricksy spy,
Like words they should not have to speak,
Said neath a silent, opaque sky.
They kiss, hug, love (in method Greek)
Filled with a love that's tinged with sorrow,
Like words they should not have to speak.
They live for now, not for the morrow.
Theirs has always been a winter world
Filled with a love that's tinged with sorrow,
And those who wept while bagpipes skirled.
Terzanelle for a Winter Love
Theirs has always been a winter world
Filled with a threat of a gathering storm,
And those who wept while bagpipes skirled.
Death comes so oft, it seems the norm.
A far-off rumble, and snow-scented air's
Filled with the threat of a gathering storm.
They know about half-hopeless prayers
Said neath a silent, opaque sky.
A far-off rumble, and snow-scented air's
Ambushes, like a tricksy spy,
Like words they should not have to speak,
Said neath a silent, opaque sky.
They kiss, hug, love (in method Greek)
Filled with a love that's tinged with sorrow,
Like words they should not have to speak.
They live for now, not for the morrow.
Theirs has always been a winter world
Filled with a love that's tinged with sorrow,
And those who wept while bagpipes skirled.