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The worst thing you can do to yourself is to trust anyone but God with anything you don't want to be public knowledge.
All the news that is the news,
Is carried and repeated,
By little birds who fly about,
To make sure it is tweeted,
To any who will hear their song,
And sing it to another.
For some it doesn't matter who,
They'd sing about their mother.
It doesn't matter if the news,
Is new or if it's old,
If it's entertaining,
It will be retold.
A juicy tid bit her or there,
Is all they really need,
To start the ball a-rolling,
And their nasty banter feed.
Those who carry gossip,
The bearers of bad news,
When trusted with a secret,
Are just like a lit fuse.
They have to tell the secret.
They have to dump their load,
For if they don't they'll overload,
And then they'll just explode.
Travel to the east or west,
Or to the north or south,
A gossip's just a nasty bird,
With a great big mouth.
Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2016
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