Get Your Premium Membership

Willow

Here lies my old pal Michael,
His spirit set free by wind,
because the storm which kicked his bucket,
trapped the poor old git within,
A Scotsman by his name,
and a carpenter by trade,
should of built yourself s door mate,
to stop the barn which caved you in.

I love you Bic. 







Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.