Poem: A political ghost flew, ruining my view

The wheat it rises fast by summer late Honey yellow melting into rich gold Yet now, streaking through the swaying barley Comes ex-P.M. from Euro state of old Fleeing worldly problems and past mistakes With childish abandon and youth-lost glee Surprised, then angry; next, aloud thinks I: “Well, that’s stained this golden moment for me!”Continue reading “Poem: A political ghost flew, ruining my view”