‘More! More!’ the crowd cried ‘More!’;
Except there was no crowd, wandering lonely by the shore.
The waves steep high, crashing with chorus and crescendo;
The voice of the sea drowning out all that stand before the flow.
The Moon was high, the water was white;
The time was soon, the time would be right.
In the meantime, there’s always tales to tell;
Proud poetry proposed poorly, alliteration hell.
So, here’s to you! And here’s to me! Beaming smile ever so carefree.
In the world of fiction and dreams and delight,
Why miss the spectacle? Why turn off the light?
©DJA 2016
From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories
The Angry Farmer 