Beneath a pewter sky,
With the cold breeze slicing through our clothes,
We watch the boats sail by -
Out towards the ocean,
Far beyond the bay,
To where whales sing their love songs
And the dolphins dance and play.
|Friday Flash Fiction||
This is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though – sonnets, perhaps, or around that length at the very most.