Game

Knock down the door and ring the bell,
although I may not be home
Cry "Oh please", on bended knees,
"Where art thou", as I still rome
With whipper wills, not iron ore,
nor as sweet as dew
Taste the gold, let truth be told,
of day’s end, awry, askew
For as the sun goes down the lane,
Mighty Lord said I shall too
For a while I liked this game
For a while I bet you did too

11/3/01
©Hannahlore Starr
:: Back to Poetry Page ::