scarves flow wildy in wind
silent dismay for how truth be spind
a new carcus in the sun to rot
a golden opportunity gone to pot
a spineless tactless horse corpse
hastily spits piece meal remorse
jam jar filled with last of delight
rationed for a day filled with fright
Loved this with all its bleakness and remorse. Is it the desert where all the spineless little frights run off to?
clearly 😉