NaPM, April 6, 2020

[Todd]

The Leader, of His Bride


The essence of a crowd or mob
is underrated.  See, it runs
toward a goal its heart defines
with passion and its arms upraised
or when affrighted coyly flees
as from a whiff of grapeshot or
a charge of iron-shod dragoons.
One fellow wrote a mob of men
behaves as if it were one woman–
what, I ask, could be more charming?

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Keith nice imagery. In the context, do you mean choir not quire?

I thought so, too, but the image of tree frogs as pamphlet-folded paper is arresting, isn't it?

It could be if that's the intention. What makes me pause is the rhyme between the words. That's why I wanted to check as opposed to saying, caught a typo because there may be no typo at all. It's a good poem.