Laying on the river,
thinking of what's in space,
of what's farther below,
of what nobody bloody knows.
I lay my head down,
on this bed of a river,
and I float through the big sipper.
They all stare and call me "Dunce!",
say I'll get a old,
that I'll die without someone.
But I'm just gonna keep floating,
through night, through day,
through crystal clears,
through murky grays.
I'll nap on the stream,
I'll soak up and prune,
my back always watched.
My ears always sung tunes,
tunes of the flow,
I'll kiss mother nature,
and she'll caress my hand.
I'll come to it gladly,
when it shall come,
I'll come to my end.
Right on this bend.
I'll end a bit soaked,
on a well deserved float.
YOU ARE READING
CLUCK NO
PoetryA collection of both emotional and humorous poems about growing up and other frustrating parts of life that'll sound alright in your head, but just plain stupid out loud. !!!WARNING!!! This is not a compilation of chicken poems.
