What do I spy with my little eye?
Oh, no, a silly game, I hear you sigh.
It’s something you just can’t buy,
A clear and blue and sunny sky.
What sound reaches my cauliflower ear?
My questions are getting weirder I fear.
Why I’m doing this isn’t clear,
But “I’m comin’ up” is the song I hear.
What morsel passed my greedy lips?
And took away my zippers’ zips.
It travel directly to my hips,
Try lovely, tasty, sirloin tips.
What tidbit landed under my sneaky nose?
It caused petals to fall from my rose
And the shades on my windows to close.
My neighbor does things with his garden hose.
What occurrence gets under my thin skin?
And puts my brain in a tizzy and spin.
I’m sure getting so upset is a major sin,
But, I can’t open up my bottle of gin.
Great poem, Goldennib--funny.
ReplyDeleteOK I may be wrong, but that definitely seemed like streams of consciousness to me, albeit wrapped up in poetry.
ReplyDeleteHaha. Nice.
The Grunt - thanks. It was fun.
ReplyDeleteJenn - Yes, streaming all right. I'm a sucker for rhymes.
I hate when I can't open my Gin! =(
ReplyDelete:)
Se7en: I need tranquilizers when that happens. ; )
ReplyDelete