Skirt

We admire the fires, in burning tyres,
we are those kings who cling to wings,

we delay, they say with all dismay,
yet we slay the ones who play with clay,

we fight and fight, and bite at night,
and we slice the mice with sharpened dice,

we mock who wears frocks and socks,
and we blog on fogs, dogs and frogs,

we run the mill with solid will,
and we want to kill the ills but still,

we bust and burst the crust of dust,
and we irked and worked and never shirked,

we greet with plates when we meet the mates,
when we walk through gates we walk through dates,

we create, we state, we contemplate,
yet we ate the bait of gory fate!

(More poems at Clear Like Clarity)