crumbled and rolled

blown over 04/12/2011

Filed under: sloppy sonnet — paperslightertext @ 9:15 pm

Pacific rim, O ring of fire,
Perched on Nature’s lip
What ardent ire is desire
Hot and bothered by a quip

Erupting ash might spew
from its chimney with care
One would hope it might avoid
Poor old Pioneer Square

Which is quite close for comfort
To the Columbia Tower
Rumored terrorists would bomb
at the Oft Remembered hour

Pick your poison, so they say
Goes the time-tested cliche.


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