71 – Cold December

Poem number 71
.
Cold December
.
He wrote a lot of poems but he wasn’t good with words
They’d tumble out all tangled when he tried to talk to birds
So now he’s old and lonely, writing poems of regret
Life’s an evil bugger, lest you ever should forget.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s