No salt left in the shaker
no corn upon the cob,
no bib upon the baby
such a messy, little slob.
No fish within the fishbowl
no flies upon the poop,
no paper left upon my porch
giving me the scoop.
No wind to push my sailboat
no motor in my car,
lost my keys a week ago
I leave the door ajar.
I hope this poem dissolves itself
long before I’m dead,
it’s stinking up my little blog
and never should be read.
Left unsupervised, stuff like this happens.
1 comment:
Ya but I like it!!
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