Trevor Mcleod Poet Quatrain

Peanut Butter Pants

All wore peanut butter pants
where the world spread jam
As the tailor tried to fit you
in a bread you'd call his clam

And you paid for more than sticky
when a sandwich would expand
And your filling was for others
that your taste was in their hand

And you never knew another
for leaving you alone
When you're made up for the moment
that someone would condone

And were gobbled up for nighttime
when your love was there to be
Joining jam and peanut butter
nightly for the spree

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