My grandad always said I would read so much I would turn my brains into train oil - this blog is about my reading year, and about my struggle to stop buying books!
Friday, 26 March 2010
Poetry Friday; Parrot by Gregory Benson
Parrot
Parrot flames on his branch; his beak is a battle axe.
His encircled eye pierces what it sees.
He screams like a soprano; moves among the leaves like a rock climber.
He dazzles the forest canopy with primary colours. A celebration.
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