When i was young. Just a brick, one by one. Didn’t know my place. Looking in the mirror, staring at my face. I was in shock didn’t know where to hide. There was a stud on my side.
My brother Rick. A 2x4 brick. Laught at me You will see, There comes a day you’re more important than me.
Easy said, he was general. Used every day, populair after all.
I walked a while. Met a tile With a stud on his head. And this is what i said: You will see, There comes a day you’re more important than me.
I met a truck with no light. He was missing a brick with a stud on his side. And this is what you get. No matter how you look. There comes a day your part of a set.
Post by MockingbirdInc on Jul 4, 2017 12:02:14 GMT
You guys really want me to post something here? I can't think of rhymes; school made my brain disappear. I will race through my mind and think of a poem; And when I'm done, to my family, I'll show 'em.
However, my train of thought has run of track; I always knew that thing put on much slack. And, frankly, I can't come up with anything; Poems are hard, if you know what I mean.
It's silly of me to think rhymes are all poems do; After all, there's always limericks and the haiku. However, my mind is quite feeble and week, So these simple poems are all I can think.
I'm at the last part; I am almost done, But reading this stupidity wasn't really fun. My poems are more sour than the taste of a lime; And man, viewing this poem was a big waste of time.
You guys really want me to post something here? I can't think of rhymes; school made my brain disappear. I will race through my mind and think of a poem; And when I'm done, to my family, I'll show 'em.
However, my train of thought has run of track; I always knew that thing put on much slack. And, frankly, I can't come up with anything; Poems are hard, if you know what I mean.
It's silly of me to think rhymes are all poems do; After all, there's always limericks and the haiku. However, my mind is quite feeble and week, So these simple poems are all I can think.
I'm at the last part; I am almost done, But reading this stupidity wasn't really fun. My poems are more sour than the taste of a lime; And man, viewing this poem was a big waste of time.
I put on my shoes, I'm ready to clime. But as I start walking I see a dime.
Binding I pick it up out of the grime. I think to myself, Look, just a dime. I put it in my pocket and start to clime. I must have been walking along for some time. When it it started to pore, birds wheal and whine. I walk along not angry at all and feeling just fine. All at once an old lady beckoning me to her side. Kindly she asked. "Any money to spare? I need a ride." No. I started to say, then I remember the start of my clime. Yes. But it's only a dime. I handed her my only dime.
She took it gladly, then put her hand in mine. "Thank you dear, it'll do just fine." Then she told me astory of such a time. Of Battle and war not as peaceful as mine. Then told of her family, she needed that dime, to get back to them, she hoped they were fine. Though she doesn't know it quite yet, they are. And that is the end of my rime.
