POEMS

The Rhyming and Not Rhyming Kind

A LITTLE BIRD

If I was a little bird, with nary a care in the world,

I’d fly around,

Not touch the ground,

And watch men’s life unfurl.

Hold me please

The pain and the hurt

Are killing me

The lies and the cries

Are hurting me

I’m being drowned

Hold me please

My child

I love you dearly, daughter

I wish that you could see

That you’re a priceless child

Created and loved by me.

Nonsense poems make no sense at all.

I think that’s why they call them nonsense.

For if a poem makes sense to one,

It would not make sense to call it nonsense.

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”