This March day, I worked my way;my hands were numb, useless as a drum.
I dreamed of the sun
in a far off place,
where it warmed my feet
as well as my face.
This March day, I was frozen in place
when a world weary woman
found me in space.
She looked in my eyes and
chuckled a little;
but I was not there,
and cared not a spittle.
This March day,
I walked in a daze,
I guess you could call it
a miniature phase.
This March day
the sun winked weakly,
making my vest
shine like a binky.
This March day,
I came to,
so I looked around
and found...
I was in the middle of the street,
for the great sake of Pete!
Hope you enjoyed the horrible poem. Now I must go and... write down some morem!
(I crack myself up.) God Bless!
P.S. I just completed my second day as a crossing guard for a school close by in case you're worried about my sanity. Thanks for reading!
