The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Take me beat me and mold me
I am yours to do with what you wish
No matter what you do with me
I am still considered quite a dish.
I can modify your hardness
I can let you know when to boil
I can conduct a heat in you
And I will never let you spoil.
I don’t react harshly, if you get me moist and wet
You’ll still love me in the morning, on that I think I’ll bet
I will still be malleable, no matter what you do
You can beat me to transparency, and yes you see right through.
I am a bright yellow colour, with a lustre some would die for
Keeping me in good condition, would never become a chore
If you really wanted to, you can put me in your mouth
I can even adorn your body parts, North, West, East and South…
I don’t react to an acid tongue, except those that are vitriolic
But you can dissolve me with the acid, called nitro hydrochloric.
You can pour me when I’m so very hot too hot for you to play
Then you can finger me when I am cool, and play with me all day
You can eat off me, or with me, the choice will be yours
They say I came from outer space, in fact in meteors
But one thing I will say I don’t wear out or lose my lustre, it is told
So if you pick me up treat me well, I am you little nugget of gold.
YOUTH AND OLD AGE
Get off your galloping horse of youth’s impressions
Stop looking down upon old age with contempt
You still on the planes of doubt and uncertainties
Having not yet made in life any real attempt
Not even a hill of problems have you ascended
Neither have you faced a serious thunderstorm
How is it possible for you ever to be assuming
Without experience your elders to reform?
You better stop and think for a single moment
All those whose heads have turned white or gray
How many hills of harms and mountains of troubles
Have they been through and climbed to this day
Your youth, a spectacular time, for you to enjoy
Dreams to make of what you would wish to assure
Sadly though the future for you a possibility is only
For everyone knows that nothing in life is for sure
So the preferable thing you ought to be doing
Is to listen carefully to these experienced old folks
For better it is to learn from mistakes they made
Than knowledge to gain from your very own faults!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 NOVEMBER 2013
A WORD IN A BOOK
No book is written with one word
No matter how vital it may appear
For that we carefully have to think
Every word, for the book, is so dear
A verb, an adjective, a noun one may be
That describes what we are and do
Or he is a period, a colon or a comma
That emphasis puts and gives us a clue
Each of us a meaningful role plays
In life’s voluminous book sublime
On the chapter titled “Humanity”
In the paragraph of space and time
None of us more significant must feel
From the other words next in line
Regardless how trivial they may seem
It is them that our functions define
Our gratitude to all words around us
At every instance we have to show
For without their valuable presence
We would never be able to glow
What kind of a word “king” would be
What sort that of a “general” of glory
If “subjects” and “soldiers” were not there
To assist them write their story?
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 NOVEMBER 2013
Eeney meany is what I will say
Which God shall I pray to today
It all depends on how I fee
And which one gives the better deal..
Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.
The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.
Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.
I remember the day when comments were the main
They're all very instrumental to the Soup's mainframe
Some comments are influential that created other writes
And many were like tuition that kept us crisp and bright
But there now appears a drought growing larger every day
We need to increase our comments as they help us write our says
Maybe it's time for change, for the Soup to alter it's route
Many foundations have recently left, will others follow suit
The columns showing us the views, tells us nothing at all
How many have clicked on a poem thinking that's a bit of a trawl
So another poem was open and not a word was read
So basically the views are worthless, because comments are our thread
We can learn from our comments but we will never learn from the views
It's our democratic choice for all, of what we do and choose
Nothing stays the same for ever as it appears to be
It's still the worlds best poetry site, that's down to you and me
Honesty is the best policy
That's a lesson I was taught at school
But today in a world of trickery
Is that merely advice for a fool?
One time a person's word was his bond
A handshake was used to seal a deal
Today, no oath can be relied on
For some are always trying to steal
I shall be honest in my action
For to myself I have to be true
In each and every situation
No matter what others say or do
Peace of mind is most important to me
That's why I shall always strive to be free
To act in all truth and sincerity
For honesty is the best policy
I tried to write this poem in the style of some poems I learned and loved as a child. I have a special fondness for balanced rhyming poems. I think they are easier for children to learn. I believe it is important for children to learn the importance of honesty and I dedicate this poem to them.
There's something I feel that I still haven't said,
Quotes that haven't straddled my lips.
When poetry wheels don't turn in my head,
Words can cast a solar eclipse.
©2012 Honestly JT
What is the true nature of love? Asked the student.
The true nature depends upon the seeker.
Replied the wise man whose gaze remained distant.
But love is not for the strong and spiritual but a distraction for the weaker.
That depends, replied the Sage, for who can say who is strong and who is weak?
But from what I have seen it lays the powerful low and leads them astray.
Astray from what? When love is what they seek.
And if love is what they have found have they not found their true way?
But Master, they give up their wealth and position in pursuit of a fleeting emotion.
Did they not amass that fortune hoping to share
It with someone they love, trust, worthy of devotion?
And at the end of the day it is not you, why should you care?
I am now confused, oh Master, that you have no compassion
That you would condone the reduction of a person from riches to nothing.
Why the confusion? said the Sage, when talking of passion,
Desire acquisition, possessions and sacrifice for loving.
I asked you what was the true nature of love, said the student
And you have told me nothing to make my understanding clear.
I will answer, said the wise man, so that you may be prudent,
Love is what love is and does not require definition, but I fear
That you confuse love with passion, infatuation and desire,
For love can be familiar as with a mother, father, sister or brother.
You talk of love which drives, the love that lights a fire,
The love of a person who desires another.
What of the love for a son or a daughter, cousin or friend?
The love of a dog, cat, a house or a boat.
The Platonic love which will endure time without end
The love of an idea, be it close or remote.
You ask what is the true nature of love.
It is like asking me the depth of the sea.
I can tell you now that the true nature of love
Is whatever you want it to be.
The work I did was playing with the angels
We read and painted, dressed up for Halloween as rangers
The Universe so close from dry, paper mache
With older kids we even wrote an Etheree
The work I did was traveling to Europe
With twenty of my students and an antelope
We colored windows facing the lights of Paris
and even opened a brasserie "Gateau de Bliss"
So, Carolyn, you made me smile opening this album
When asking "Where the Wild Things Are? " Ka-boom!
Again it's "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs"
...but empty are long gone Elementary School halls...
Oh how well I do remember
Dear Miss McConnell’s typing class.
Fumbling fingers seeking home keys,
And so afraid I wouldn’t pass.
The quick brown fox jumps over the…..
I was assigned that exercise.
No lettering on the keypads,
My fingers had no help from eyes.
Dropping out was not an option,
In Miss McConnell’s typing class,
For she tolerated failure
About as well as she did sass.
So with real determination,
I had achieved to some degree
Enough success for Miss McConnell
To give a passing grade to me.
These were manual typewriters
A secretary’s tool for years.
There was no way to fix our errors
Than with whiteout and messy smears.
My expertise on the typewriter,
Won me a job and first pay check.
I was so happy Miss McConnell
Had saved me from the hunt and peck.
I was wary of electrics.
I didn’t like them very much.
They would stammer and keep typing
When they felt my heavy touch.
But of course one can't stop progress,
And my manual was replaced.
But not until today's great wonders
Could errors simply be erased.
Written April 16, 2013 for contest "The Typewriter"
Riddled face, weary under clouds quite late,
night of hope screeches of decent meal to eat.
A boy cups his hands again, a hunched fate
plucking tin can on lanes primed for the elite.
Cold the body wrapped like soiled paper bag
approaching cars and men with dollar points,
and bypassed like a nameless stamp, a rag
while he coughs for some gentle plea: coins, coins.
Then, the waif rushed to me near the helm
claiming a folder got pinned on my backseat door,
with pure kindness in his eyes; I felt ashamed
casting doubt on his intent, my breath appalled.
“Thank you”, let’s talk a while was my invite
as we dined, the stench of poverty I dismissed.
Gazing at a warm face that spoke of grim plight,
he longed of math and arts , important on his list.
This boy, stirring me back to values of kindness,
received a free education in lower grade school.
The folder he saw, a prize I won as bonus
reclaimed my sense of charity, my inner jewel.
Thank You Contest: Patricia Ellis
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
< Toaster Strudel - Trochee
I just crave toaster strudel
Piping hot pastry
Cool icing so can doodle
So get to popping me one
Time to used noodle
Pop tarts boring just no fun
Choose toaster strudel
Rhyme Scheme: a/b/c/b or a/b/a/b
The meter is trochee, which means alternating stressed and unstressed beats in each line, with each line beginning and ending in a stressed syllable. This is a simple lyrical type little poem, so rhymes will be basic, nothing fancy. The poem itself should give a description of something of interest to the poet and often the meter lends itself to humor, much as a limerick does. There is not a set number of these quatrain type stanzas, but a typical 7/5 Trochee would consist of two quatrains, with the second stanza serving to tie up the idea presented in the first stanza.
The elders speak in timeless tones to reconcile the past,
And offer truths from which we choose to fill the roles we're cast.
But though the sage will muse how well the truths can guide our way,
So few will heed and recognize the worth of what they say.
The elders speak a sacred tongue in soft and whispered tone,
Of olden days and simpler ways, of souls who now are gone.
They tell of lies and blunders made throughout the ages passed,
And beg we put their truths to pen, for all to know at last.
They come to me at varied times and occupy my thought
With facts and lore of times before, and other things they've brought.
They seek to put a record straight or make an error right,
When history's lacking in some way and needs a ray of light.
At first, I’d cringe in shock and awe, was overwhelmed and dazed.
At times, I’d feel too small to deal with issues that they raised.
"What should I do?" I asked myself, “Why should I care at all?”
But time has shown that I should trust the wisdom of their call.
I honed my skills and craftsmanship, and dedicated time.
I lent my pen and acumen, and love of word and rhyme.
I judged them not for wrongs they did, their ignorance or views,
For though they erred, the lessons learned are much to dear to lose.
It's not so much the words they say, or lives they lived and lost,
Or ways they tried to go and guide, no matter what it cost.
But what they learned from what they did and left for us to muse,
Much more than gold and treasured gems, are lessons wrought with truths.
I believe many of us charged with making our history palatable for the generations to come
get far too involved in our own sensitivities. We seem to place inordinate significance on our
judgement of our ancestors' ignorance, wrongs done to one another, and politics. As a result,
we overlook the value of the lessons learned and passed along with their legacy. It is the
cost of the wrongs done, the lives lost, and the errors made that inflates the value of the
lessons from which we have to learn... and leaving those lessons in the past is yet a greater
cost, or loss, as the case may be.
A person in love can become a fool
To all the emotions that are new
How can we tell a fool they must beware?
Of the things they might say and do.
Accept what is offered a love that is true
Accept it and hold it to your heart
A fool and his emotions a dangerous thing
Don’t let them make two lovers now part.
A Greek god has looks and the presence too
But the emotions he shows would not be like you
Handsome and beauty are just surface things
To the regret of many that bought golden rings
To love and be loved is a precious gift
Don’t look for things that aren’t there
Just love and be loved and honour and trust
To the love of your life just be fair.
The element of fire in one’s birth sign
Connotes a person zealous and upright.
Goal-oriented, with desire to win,
He thrives on challenges; for truth he’ll fight!
The person “grounded” (element of earth),
Is prudent, stable and reliable.
He’s good with business and enjoys it when
His senses are aroused; he’s physical!
The element of air, that of the seer,
Is given him with quickness of the mind.
The great communicator keeps informed;
To self-appraisal also he’s inclined!
A bearer of good will who serves mankind
Is he with water’s sign. Emotions flow.
He freely gives, but then when he is hurt,
He’s shy and rarely lets that feeling show.
Four elements known as Triplicities -
Each representing three astrologies!*
NOTE: Everyone probably has a little bit of each
element in his astrological chart because one is born
with his sign in the moon and in all the other planets in
addition to the sun (one‘s main astrological sign); however,
some people have a preponderance or even a lack of one
or more elements in their charts, and that is what makes us
*Fire represents Leo, Aries and Sagittarius
*Earth represents Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn
*Air represents Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius
*Water represents Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces
For "The Four Elements" contest, sponsored by Barbara Gorlick
To tea or not to tea 'answered'
The ultimate taste in tea,
as it should always be.
There is tea and there is the perfect cup,
make perfect tea? Yes, for all to sup.
Right! Now we can start,
making perfect tea to warm your heart.
Warm your cup and your kettle boil,
no tea-bag yet or you will despoil.
Sugar in your cup to begin,
aye! Sugar or what-ever is your sin.
Next boiling water you may add,
still no tea yet, not one wee tad.
Stir your sugar until dissolved,
your perfect cup is nearly solved.
Now! Only now place your tea-bag,
let it sit there, let it lag.
Leave thirty seconds then jiggle your string,
Straight up and down, no wiggling.
It's up to you how many dumps you do,
the more dumps and the flavor will accrue.
Warm cup, boiling water equals 82 degrees,
The flavor will always be, just the Bee's knees.
Never pour boiling water on any tea-bag,
'cos the flavor will be just blidy, blidy sad.
Now taste your tea minus the 'tannin' shock,
You'll notice the difference, like cheese from chalk.
Many thousand cups of tea I have drank,
Use this recipe and you'll have me to thank.
The Auld Yin.
I remember how she watered my mind
Like a tender plant she nurtured my soul
My mind bamboozled by her many words
You can make it, you can make it
No clichés she says metaphors are wise
I never hesitate stories I create
I unfold like a flower, words break free
I blossom and bloom in literature
Her voice a mentor to the words I write
My pen my closest friend, I hold her dear
Many words like the sun shining down on me
I bask in the presence of poetry
I hear her voice clean and clear in my ear
Her praise sits on me like a butterfly
Pen to paper becomes an easy task
I grow and glow spreading my own petals
Oft when folks are talkin',
They'll use a phrase or two,
That can be taken wrongly,
The meaning misconstrued;
And so they get the text all wrong,
And spread it far and wide,
And when you learn what you have said,
You wonder why they lied.
Some people just don't listen,
When others talk to them,
So just part of what you're saying,
Ever gets through to them.
Here a word and there a phrase,
Is stored within their mind;
Then they weave it all together,
And Oh what they can find.
It pays you well to watch your words,
Speak plain, don't joke around;
For what you say in jest my friend,
Will later on rebound.
Then just try to 'splain it.
Explain it if you can;
But most folks won't believe you,
'Cause they just don't understand.
So often people spread around gossip that has no real bearing whatsoever simply because they misunderstood what someone said to them.
Sometimes people will say something in jest that others take as serious talk so that's the story they spread to others.
Why is that?
Because it's often more fun to some people to believe the worst than it is to believe the best about someone else.
Remember, when someone tells you gossip about someone else it's a good idea to ask yourself what that same person says about you when you aren't there to defend yourself.
A gossip is like a loaded gun.
When it goes off all it causes is destruction.
Covetousness or Greed begets
In our souls unkindness
And want of Charity or Love
< earth ~ third planet from sun
liquid and iron ~ cores
continents ~ islands ~ pun
arctic icing ~ drips pores
wind ~ natures own fury
flow gasses ~ bulk movements
storm ~ hurricane ~ jury
place in pocketbook ~ dent
fire ~ oxidation
combustion ~ releasing
heat ~ light ~ good ~ tar nations
pollution ~ choking ~ thing
water ~ called H2O
oxygen ~ hydrogen
evaporation ~ goes
will exceed supply ~ when ?
earth ~ wind ~ fire ~ water
Nature's elements ~ sure
The Four Elements Contest
I've knelt on mats of reeds to idols,
that we revered with pious trust.
They fell to near obscurity,
and now they mingle with the dust.
I've of chiseled and scraped from the tablets
my deep deliberate curving ruts,
to weather out times ruthless passage,
carving out my eternal cuts.
Indelible, and yet delicate
and considerably few,
consider all of what you see,
for they purely belong you.
The small rice is the only rice
Sally had me know.
Convinced there were two sizes.
Higher price and low.
Relieved and then excited.
Realising I'd get more.
Forgetting my own diet.
To calling it a chore.
A lot of rice seemed fine to me.
The price would stay the same.
I'd eat a little more today
despite the weight I'd gain.
The bites all feeling tiny.
Each swallow weighing down.
A stomach that's expanding
where grunts are left to drown.
So Sally what's your secret?
Tell me what you've learned.
You say a drop of oil
and nothing has been burned.
Sally's Brown Fried Rice.
Something that she's earned.
All my life I longed for you.
You filled my thoughts and dreams.
You'd stand majestic, head held high,
My mind's eye saw the gleam,
Of vibrant health, unbounded strength,
That shone from a glistening coat,
The look of eagles in your eye,
As you moved you seemed to float,
Like the billowing clouds that float across,
The azure sky above.
When I'm with you I too can fly,
I soar on wings of love.
We glide across the meadow,
Beneath the sun lit sky,
We are the best of fellows,
My dog, my horse and I.
I believe God had many reasons for giving us the animals and if we try we can figure out what those reasons are.
For one thing, I believe the first and foremost reason was to TEACH US.
Have you ever noticed they have remained just as He created them?
They never deviated from the original plan.
We, However, have done our level best to IMPROVE on PERFECTION; and we have poisoned the environment and nearly destroyed the entire planet in the attempt.
What is more loyal than a dog?
Animals have shown more self sacrificing loyalty and courage in the face of danger than we ever dreamed of. They love completely and will willingly sacrifice themselves for our good. How many of us will do that for them? In fact we laugh at those who will.
We KEEP them as long as it is convenient and then cast them aside without a thought for their love or well being or how much heart break they suffer for our uncaring treatment of them. We don't try to understand them at all; but we expect them to understand us. If we are so much smarter than them, how come we have never learned any of this from them? Could it be that we are so selfish and concerned for our own comfort that nothing else matters much to us?
The love we receive from our animals is completely unconditional.
The love they receive from us HAS IT'S LIMITS.
We should give that some serious thought.
In case you wonder why time is past and keep going by
Since last we spoke again, it is my way to retain
Some pride of memory, not crumbling the mind's eye
Like old newspaper stained and littering the drain
I would still read your news don,t get me wrong, I'm sure
No history written now can blot that splendid brow
That nurtured me and cure the heart waves on its shore
Restlessly beating to the flow of what we did not know
Each morning fresh I came to your school to help tame
The brute in all the brats and me, we sang the rats
That took cheese and all, flame our love for life's game
Making a child that's contented so, a show of stats
A better man, a better woman held by reins of our letter
And figure in the dust of chalk, and your bright talk
Of praise each while unfetter my heart's invisible teeter
The sleeping genius that sparked and was embarked
Away from dusty floor to earn the prize of something more
And after all that circling we again return time dizzy
Washed out and beyond restore from chalk dreams galore
And you on the phone, a glee glints in wheezy memory
Not this my heart to endure, not this on the gritty shore
Still gold and fresh, and yet we with rasping breath
Did not even rip the oar full way. Silence loves you more
For all you gave than wet morns more than we forget.
Our teacher, old Miss Michener
Was really rather odd.
She had a nasty twitch in her
That started with a nod.
Sometimes that twitch would form a frown
Upon her painted lips.
And then it moved its way on down
To sway her big old hips.
We couldn’t wait for her to yell
When some of us would bicker,
And at the ring of the lunch bell
Her eyelids made a flicker.
These were such fun days, in and out-
Enjoying her odd quirks.
We tried our best to make her shout
Just waiting for those jerks.
But one day as we counted math
Miss Michener had enough.
She let out all her fiery wrath
In one big steamy huff.
She stomped hard twice, upon the floor
And marched across the room,
Then flung open the closet door
And grabbed the class’s broom.
Our mouths gaped open, really wide.
We stared as she took flight-
Straight through the window, right outside,
Then zoom, clear out of sight.
Our teacher, old Miss Michener
Was more than we could see-
She had a nasty witch in her,
But we had set her free!
By Susan Burd © 2011
This is for all the people out there,
That can't use proper grammar,
You make me want to tear out my hair,
Or hit you with a hammer,
Yes, my grammar is not the best,
But please try to improve,
And I'll try, not to slam my hand into your chest,
If I need to I'll move,
Such as, A or An,
Grammar is an important tool,
And should be used by every man and woman,
Don't ignore your mistakes,
You were taught better,
For goodness sake,
You need to know these things to write a proper letter!
Oh dear, I just realized what I could do,
with the Hungry Caterpillar plushy,
enveloped by paper, for my cute new
nephew. He’ll learn to spell his name by three.