In Toto

by kholinar

Silo sigh
been seen
thrice male.
Silo’s sigh,
then gusting gales.
With trapdoors sprung
the sterling trudge,
a woodsmen
in a golden sludge.
In proud semblance
of awes, a jest
gapes and jaws.
But as he spins,
the homespun stops —
Lost the house?
We mark it dropped.

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