My Gran's wonderful furry companion Francis
Image via Wikipedia
A pining poem waiting to be read,
A hungry poet begging to be fed.
His last money spent on a new pen,
The final draft approved and then…
*
Someone knocking at his door!
Poet spills his ink upon the floor,
in his haste to welcome the reader,
who surely needs must be his feeder.
*
‘t Is just the Reaper come to call,
the poem’s the writing on the wall,
read by a grateful audience of one.
Goodbye poet, don’t try to run!
151rby
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Applause, Applause!!! Thanks Ralphie.
“See You Anon”, food for thought– be sure to take your muse along with you on the road to Morocco…