Winter is Coming


In the great FLATland

There was some dead grass

And an old rubber band

And a sweaty garden hand

And there were four little chicks pooping on bricks

And a million plums

And a FLATfull of bums

And a grimy house

And a little dead mouse

And a hotbox and a press

And no less

Than a FLAT director whispering “we gotta do something about this mess…”


Goodnight FLATland

Goodnight dead grass

Goodbye old rubber band

Happy bathing, garden hand

Goodnight chicks

Sorry, bricks

Hello plums

Eat up, bums

Looking better, house

Spatula that mouse

Farewell hotbox and curse you, press

And late but not less

Goodnight FLAT director whispering “we sure cleaned up that mess!”

Later, studio dust

Goodbye compost heap

Goodbye all the stuff we couldn’t keep

An unoriginal poem by FLAT poet-in-residence, M.C. Donough


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