The Big Run Poem by Lev Brekhman
The Big Run
Wistfully gazing at faltering ducks,
The hunter just ditches his gun.
Cannot believe that hunt now sucks,
You have not a chance for the run.
'Running' for women is also dead,
They falter, and falter, and fall.
Life is becoming a hollow dread,
Purgatory, cold, for all.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: irony
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8/3/2025 8:41:04 AM # 1.0.0
