I like it here on this perch,
I examine the grass on both sides
Debate their merits with old Tom
Who mews his song
It's just this: my butt starts to get sore
I get the urge to jump
I get the urge to gag old Tom
Who's not much help, really.
But having jumped, I regret quickly
I miss old Tom
I miss the view
I start looking for another perch
1 comment:
Of course, whenever the outcome is unknown, Tom is Schraedinger's cat. I just borrow him every now and then.
I didn't realize, tho, that every poem is dirty from some perspective. ::sigh:: I'm learning a lot from Poor Man's Telepathy.
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