Tweed is not lazy.
Tweed has the inner ache-nature of straw.
Tweed reeks of blood sausage and barley.
Tweed’s virtues are infinite and unshakable.
Tweed above all remains industrious.
Tweed is miserable, and wants to lie down among its own kind.
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4 comments:
Fun texture poem, Sarah. I feel like I know tweed well.
Of course, now I have apply tweed to vanilla pudding...
I love the smells of it. Why is that? You're right on!
Wait, I didn't mean I love the smell of tweed, I mean I love the way you describe the smells in this poem! Just had to clarify after seeing my post!
lauren
carl -
don't ever wear tweed directly against the pudding.
lauren -
haha, no worries. barley doesn't smell bad, nor blood sausage. a whole nation or two enjoys eating it.
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