Such a sweet face.
But she still doesn't know her place.
When you read your poetry to us,
try not to make such a fuss.
It's difficult to hear you so distraught.
Don't you remember a single thing you were taught?
You were always scolded
for not keeping your hands folded
now why do you grimace
like this?
Try not to stress each syllable so much,
Such a prickly cactus rarely knows our touch.
The rhyming is lovely, exquisite really
Like all of those dresses we bought you, so frilly.
We have a writer in the family, how novel,
But we cannot stand to see you grovel,
in public, how dare you
is that what they teach you in those schools where you
Took all of our money – they didn't teach you a thing,
Why do you groan, didn't you learn how to sing?
Pretty bird in a cage, tweet tweet.
We didn't teach you to be anything but sweet.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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