image credit: Stefan Keller
Billy is a massive guy
Stands so tall he reaches the sky
Stretches his arms and mills the cloud
Of every letter he/she/they is Rainbow Proud
But quaint he ain’t.
Sarah’s folks
Often choke
When professing
She’s a little Princess
Alas, alarm, alacrity
No uglier kid in the city
And quaint she ain’t.
Harriet’s a charming pet
Most colourful chicken yet
But her colours aren’t subtle
Purple tail, green tinged wattle
And quaint she ain’t.
George keeps the pub at Oldham Green
Oldest pub you’ve ever seen
Wonky roof, rickety door
Never repaired, George is poor
And quaint it ain’t.
100 words written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Quaint
crispina kemp 
A wonderfully whimsical poem!
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I do whimsical quite well, and macabre sorta good. Note, I don’t do love
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That was a wonderful poem, Crispina! Very nicely done!!
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It began with Quaint he ain’t. But that’s only 3 words. 97 to go… 🤔🤭😀👍
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All it takes is a phrase to get you going! I love it.
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Unbelievable that I all be lost it all when I had encephalitis (inflammation of the brain). Our brains are so elastic
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It is amazing.
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Of course, I don’t know what I might have lost cos I don’t remember it!
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There is some comfort in the not knowing.
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Love this! You are a marvel Crispina!
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Thank you, Frank. I had fun writing it 🙂
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Beautiful take, Crispina. Quaint, yet not quaint?
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Thank you. One might call it a ‘quaint take’ 🙂
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