By
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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.
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.
Great n Nice work
Thank you very much!
This poem is a treasure, Melody, beautiful writing, as always…:)
Aw, thanks. How sweet you are! I appreciate your visits…
Your creativity hit another level on this one.
😀 I came home from a great early childhood conference I attended on the weekend, and was inspired in a number of new ways. I wrote my first children’s story, too! Here’s to inspiration!
That’s awesome.
Now to see what will come of it…
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!
🙂 I can see you all fired up and hoisting your petard on some fool pirate who double-crossed you. Aye, aye, Cap’n Caddo!
Oh you know me too well, Mel–some days I dare say I could take on a pirate or 2, the morons!!
I’d pay good money to see it!! hehe
I’d invite you for free, but bring a protective garment–could get messy.
BAHAHA *choke, splutter*
Exactly the response I predicted–it’s good to laugh!
Is it ever! Necessary, even!
what a clever way to hide ones treasure ~right under ones nose! Marvelous built ship! xo Faithfully Debbie
Again – what wonderful interpretations. I love that you see this treasure as being right under the tree’s nose – love it!
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
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