The fruits of such

I will gladly join the pirates that pillage.
I will sit back and watch the sacks being filled
and whisked away to a village far, far away.

The fruits of such will be cooked
and devoured by men
that are restless and chapped.

Their flags waving no mercy or repeal.

There will be tales told of roses that never die,
hands that never fold and waves that never break.

That royal flush will wash the land
sending sands over the villages of the wealthy
and gates will swing shut closing off all
that needed to be let in.


Ray Strickland

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