A Winters Travel
There was not any time left
The man's ear was hearing and not deft
He chewed on bits of steel
Or caught fish with his new rod and reel
No one has time anymore
Thats ok because no one has time anymore
How must we talk organize again
Is moving she there sit a sin?
Dear mother, I have no news of my arrival
Love John, p.s. i could use new yes
Scratch that i need long johns
Tomorrow i will be coming home
While the wind eats tastey goldfish
The rainy sky succumbs to my odor
I have more Rhyme and meter
Than Alfred Lord Tennison and Jonathan Peter
