I can not believe some of what I read as love poetry
If anything more than made up pity
Sounds like coming from garden slugs
Looking for love in the closest abandoned shell
Searching for love in the wrong bars
So be it but for the fact
They have children rest for only a spell
pity the children raised by slimey snails-- oh well!
I only read on because I am into humor
But then I realize they live amongst us
So you say what is all the fuss?
eight nine ten children raised in the muddle
Actually it is the mind boggling images I see
as nightmares attacking my mind in my sleep
and I wake up thinking the wife is pouring salt on me
It's only a dream I am not the slug
true that only the good die young