They would canoodle
and swoodle
and oodle
and boodle
and cajole
and rumble
and fall
They’d get up
and they’d play
and dance
every which way
and entice
everyone
each
one and all
They would complain
when they’d
suffer some pain
and bruises
and oozes
and which
But they’d always
get well
cos they’re mother
would tell;
it’ll heal
on it’s own
with no stitch
They’d forever
be happy
and jolly
and flappy
and funny
and carefree
and young
for no matter
the weather
they’d always
be better
when they’d canoodle
and swoodle
and run.
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Published by sensualism
With my head in the sky and my wings in the air, I try to spend my spare time at the footy (AFL in Australia) Go Pies! – and valuable hours with family and friends. Otherwise I’ll have pen in hand and notebook at the ready for those insightful snippets that dream up a poem.
I contribute to Cosmofunnel where you’ll find a guided universe of poetry and art.
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