By
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Wind froze your undercarriage, the soft white skin of exposed belly where armour cannot reach. Low blow, coming from an ally; ‘Et tu, Brute’ will be your swan song, your dying dirge.
Wind froze your undercarriage,
the soft white skin of exposed belly
where armour cannot reach.
Low blow,
coming from an ally;
‘Et tu, Brute’
will be your swan song,
your dying dirge.
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“Low blow” certainly suits this lovely picture. How did the snow get underneath like that? You’ve captured the deep pain of betrayal well in your poem. Nice work, Melody!
Blessings ~ Wendy
It’s odd, isn’t it? Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction… or something like that! 🙂
Absolutely!
O, Melody, it’s always a winner to quote Shakespeare! From a man who has had his underbelly frozen a time or two, always wear thermal underwear! lololol! Great poem, as usual! And photos. 🙂 Eric
Thanks Eric! Gotta love Shakespeare…
Keep being amazed as you find these shots and then write to them! Thanks for another great read!
Thanks Debbie – I’ll keep my eyes peeled!!
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
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