Autumn Rose Wood Poet I do not know?

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Cleo stubbed her toe
Thats it
All the furniture had to go!

Cleo burned her tongue
Oww, that's not fun
All the food went out the door

Cleo cut her finger on the page
Oh the horror, oh the rage
All the books in the fire

Now she huddled in the empty
Hungry
Soul less
Room 
And feared the light that kept her warm.

She locked the world out
And herself in
And she had nothing left

Poor Cleo

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Daver Austin April 17, 2009 at 6:02 AM Good write, Autumn. Everyone should be reading your stuff. The message, I take it, is fear. Boy, do I know a few who fit into that room. Love, daver

Carolyn Devonshire April 7, 2009 at 4:17 PM Sometimes when we cast from our lives the things that cause us pain, we also cast out the things and people that give us joy. I like the way you see the world through a poet's eyes, Autumn! You have mail