I met you when I work'd th'assembly line
inside a factory from nine to five
where, with support and charm, you chang'd my mind,
convincing me to quit so we'd arrive
upon an acreage half we paid apiece
so litter'd full with rocks within its dirt
it forc'd us to apply our elbow grease,
but soon, with you to help, I learn'd its worth
and labour did repay with bounty's fruit
which you as well did grow inside your womb
to bring to us a baby gurgling cute
whilst harvesting the crops until the brume
whereat you pass'd away and all I gave
to you, who gave so much, was stone for grave.
YOU ARE READING
Standalone Poetry
PoetryBecause sometimes I feel like it. They'll probably always conform to a format because I'm not great with free verse, so I strongly encourage looking up the rules of any forms you see here and don't understand.
