So, last week we experimented with prose to hint at our upcoming fall event, and today, we're taking a (weak) stab at poetry. Can you guess the event yet?
On this afternoon I approach a host
Of bulbous, faceless golden orbs
As they rest against the horizon
An orange fire in gilded autumn fields
I guide the most beautiful one away
Planning my carving the way home
As the skies darken, I am up to my elbows in a mess
Oh orb, I transform the from the inside out
Discarding all that lies within
To reveal the truth contained without
A truth it seems is up to me
And so with care and time your image I reveal
I call to thee the orb named Jack
To see him glow from internal light
I sit and watch as that orb begins to blink
But next glimmer, I swear I saw him wink
For this my attempt to make things better
For those of them held captive in the cold
More will follow. Stay tuned.
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