How old
Will I be
When I no longer
Have a bed
Of plushies
How old
Will I be
When I put them all
In a rubbermaid bid
And place it somewhere hidden
I don't think
I'll ever grow out of
My bed full of plushies
They bring my comfort
What's so wrong with that?
I like having them
Scattered across my room
Placed up high
And guarding my pillows
It's like they're watching over me
And my dreams
Keeping me safe
Letting me know
It's O.K.
To be a kid
YOU ARE READING
Leaving Behind the Endless Fields of Corn and Soybeans
PoetryEveryone has that one place in their heart. The two will always be connected, whether they love that place, or hate that place. My place? My town? I love it, I hate it. I've left it behind. This collection of poetry is about the place, the town, tha...
