February 13 2015
I hate, I hate
My son is eight,
He shut the door
When he was four
He lost the key
How can that be?
He could be free
But what fun would that be?
He listens to
The ones he knew
Would start a fight
Not tell him right.
Now four years later,
I fight a gator,
He opens wide
In comes the tide.
He drowns the life
That had no strife
When he grows up
He'll have no wife.
Copyright © Minister Jenna Williams | Year Posted 2016
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