In light of my poetry class (yes I am still in school), I have decided to share every now and then things that I have written, most to shake things up a bit.
We were asked to write 10 lines in Iambic Pentameter on death, which this isn't even close. Really it's only ten lines and about death (yes, morbid. But an assignment is an assignment). So I only slightly fail, but also win at the same time.
When I fall, it will be to child's laughter.
My moiste and dry, empty skin will litter
an unwarry field or yard for here after.
But my fall may force souls to embitter.
Why waste my verdant complection on death?
Just when a rose colors me do I court dread.
I will fall at the kiss of frozen breath
and signal, during flight, that decay will spread.
My family will follow soon on this yearly decent
and others will celbrate this morbid event.
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