Firsts
Jelly on the table,
hands on the floor,
eating your feet,
and you want more!
Your face a
burnt apricot,
my lips saying
"this is what I got."
Seconds
Farewell to dreams,
I bid you farewell,
a poem a day
comes out of its shell.
Thirds
Whistle a tune,
be happy, don't worry,
For you know that
God makes a mean curry.
No comments:
Post a Comment