(Poem 37 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

I set you up, poor
Cotton Eye’d Joe;
curiosity killed my curio.
The young dog
you barely knew,
of course startled
your eyes of blue.
Away you flew
like a wounded dove
shattering branches
of porcelain trees
in your fearful flight
to safety.

@Home Studio – 37^th poem of the year