The Pest
The Pest
As we waste away the hours
When we’re wanting more
On the nightstand there be flowers
And our clothes upon the floor
When we thought this time was ours
Comes a scratching at our door
Then our mood surely sours
Because of that beast that walks on four
~J.D. Cromwell
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
