It was gone!
I Was So Blind…
His Legacy; Are His Words.
For My Mum!
We REALLY Don't Talk About It, Do We? I Am!
Poetry Poem
When Poo Is His Business.
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No Condecending.
I don't mean to be condescending,
And I never mean to be fickle
I try to get the message accross,
Without getting myself in a pickle.
Words just come pouring out,
Just like a dictionary,
I dont know where they come from?
I've so many poems you see!
Everyday I say I'll dry up
But once again they all tumble out,
I think that I'm prolific,
Without a shadow of a doubt!
Some people have lots of brains,
And scientists have me agog
Mathematicians truly astound me,
But me, I've a cracking gob!
While everyone's basking in brainwaves, I'm feverently using 'my' brain, And every time I think, 'thats it!'
Another rhyme pops out once again!
I dont mean to be condecending,
I dont mean to be flippant at all,
Its just I'm amazed at my ability,
Or should I say, my gall?
English I adore,
I love to put words on a page,
They keep floodint out, I'm in no doubt,
That my poems will be all the rage!
Hundreds of poems I've got,
And my mind keeps producing more,
If I dont pack in soon, im sure I'll swoon,
Or knacker myself for sure!
© Catherine Inglesby 1995
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