written by me at 8 years old around 1945. Printed in Philadelphia Evening Bulletin
To me rain,
Is a pitter patter on the window pain.
"But to me"
One man said,
"It means a nasty cold in the head."
(I guess I just was born a bad poet with a attitude.)
By Miriam McCue writer of bad and even worse poetry.
Copyright © Miriam McCue