The Pied Piper

It was Hell, the City from Hell.
they left there refuse,
but no one would tell...
the deluded citizens of their plight,
that lurked through, in the murky, murky, night.

But like a diseased growth it grew,
montrous in its intent,
and from it's foul stench, forewarned,
the citizens alarmed, were bent
to be aware of the dear dear
rattus rattus spawning..
they saw in the distance the spectre
of the scythe man yawning.....

'What, oh what can be done...'
was the cry going up....
' Why, oh why has he forsaken us...'
Shall we flee from this forlorn land?
We are no more than a boil's repulsive pus...
to the Almighty Hand of the just.

by willum c wright

Other poems of WRIGHT (1)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.