curl into a perfect self
take and dust it from the shelf
mortal, moral, minced and fed
thought it all was left for dead
here a posey, there a rosey
ne'er a nosey brain has bled
it fled . . . . . .
it fled.
unpredicted, undefiled
answers questions once gone wild
perfect self, it's tender, mild
whittled from adult to child
thought it grown, thought it gone
ne'er right but always wrong
so long . . . . . .
so long.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for Peculiar Children
PoetryThis is a second anthology of my more whimsical and curious poems. They aren't so much for children, though anyone can read them!
