She was a star.
Every saturday,
Monday,
Wednesday afternoon,
She would walk,
With her ball in a worn
but clean
Leather bag,
The few blocks to the alley
And she would join the ladies
At the league.
I didn't know that
She was a star.
I knew she played
But I saw her name
On a plaque
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2 comments:
Bravo, man. I think this one is really well done. It tells a story about the subject, and at the same time it tells a story about the narrator, and the relationship between the two. Yet it only provides the barest outline of all three, forcing the reader to become involved.
My new favourite on this blog!
Are you still writing, or has that skunked up too?
I am still writing my daily poem, but discovered that most media likes to have them unpublished on the net!
so they are still stacking up in my journal, waiting to be released on the world
My daily poems here
Markb in NJ
Cheers
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