By Robert Frost
At the end of the row
I stepped on the toe
Of an unemployed hoe.
It rose in offense
And struck me a blow
In the seat of my sense.
It wasn’t to blame
But I called it a name.
And I must say it dealt
Me a blow that I felt
Like a malice prepense.
You may call me a fool,
But was there a rule
The weapon should be
Turned into a tool?
And what do we see?
The first tool I step on
Turned into a weapon.
SHANNON FOX
Shannon is a multi-genre writer of stories spanning past, present, and future. Her work has appeared in DreamForge Anvil, Air & Nothingness Press, and Third Flatiron, among others. She has a B.A. in Literature-Writing from UC-San Diego. When not writing, she spends her time dancing with horses which she’s found is significantly easier to do with four feet instead of two. She lives in San Diego, CA, with her husband and three cats – one of whom may or may not be a demon in disguise.
Author | Owner at Minute Marketing | Equestrian | Real Estate Industry Expert | Small Business Marketing | Colorado Native | San Diego Based
Shannon Fox - Author 