Tell A Tale of Tall Trees

[An exercise in cribbing another poem’s metrical patterns. – Owen]


Tell a tale of tall trees,
A thicket full of woe;
Shadows in the black land,
Miles yet to go.

When the shadows moved, then,
The earth began to see —
Wasn’t that the oddest place
For you and me to be?

For you were in your waiting-phase
Waiting in a fashion,
And I was in a torpor
Longing after passion,

So we were in the orchard
Looking for a sign,
When in came the locusts
Who drank all our wine.

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