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He would never listen to anyone,
Did whatever he wanted to do;
When trying to talk sense into him,
He would always misconstrue.
The plans clearly said go north,
He insisted he had to go west.
No one ever heard from him again,
Surely, this was his dying quest.
Folks found an old town one day,
Twas a store, with a grave marker;
An eerie sense came over them,
And the skies, above, grew darker.
See, legend has it, the old man died,
In a saddened state, of disaffection.
But truth be told, we all know why,
He could never follow directions!
Every summer, a storm rages on,
Starting from the north, no jest;
Travels along the old man’s house,
Then passes by it, heading west.
June Writing Prompt – The directions said to go north, but he headed west – Day 29/30
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Night Owl Poetry - Dorinda Duclos 