pot of gold


Pots of gold mark the places

where trees, undaunted

by their world’s enmity,

choose to bury the hatchet.

Stripped of their wares,

pirated and split into

planks which dead men walk,

they lay their treasures

at our feet, bowing

to our superiority.


18 comments on “Treasure

  1. v4vikey says:

    Great n Nice work

  2. This poem is a treasure, Melody, beautiful writing, as always…:)

  3. Lyle Krahn says:

    Your creativity hit another level on this one.

  4. Caddo says:

    Wow, this is chockablock full of nuggets–I love “pots of gold”, and the whole pirates and dead men walking planks–wow, guess I just love the whole thing!

  5. what a clever way to hide ones treasure ~right under ones nose! Marvelous built ship! xo Faithfully Debbie

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