Hobbo's Poems
A quirky look at life from a Yorkshire poet and his dog's perspective
Wilting
Wilting Like a fast fading flower that wilts, by the hour, our love life could do with fresh water, but you fight like a bull and though life's not dull, you never give me any quarter!
I don’t quite know what to make of this one. The term “continual slaughter” troubles me. May I suggest “repeated slaughter”? Do you think, logically, it’s any less odd with slaughter? Maybe not.
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Thanks for the feedback. I have changed it, and am happy to do so. I don’t want you worrying! 😊
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😂😂. Only change it if you like it!
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No. You were right. I’ve changed it completely, and it is better.😊
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Good one! Yes!!!! Now I feel truly sorry for the poor victimised individual.
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😂It does read much better, so thank you!
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Oh, splendid, Hobbo. When loves a bouquet, you can number the days.
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Especially carnations
from the local gas station!
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Hey, those are hardy lil buds. Might even have time to get sick of them before you toss them in the bin. 😂
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😂 Are you sure you haven’t been given the plastic ones!
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succinct and sharp, it’s a poem I can relate to —
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Thank you John. Me too, at times!
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