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Array ( [sid] => 2669 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Writing for Who [time] => 2002-08-24 07:32:33 [hometext] => Repost from old site

May 2002 [bodytext] => Singing a little ditty, writing a little song
For whom I don’t know, let’s see who comes along
I hope this doesn't become too long

The woman walking her dog
Her head in the fog
She just tripped over a log!

The man on his bike
Trailing the little girl on her trike
Maybe his name is Mike?

The woman tanning in the grass
Tanning oil used in mass
Hope she doesn’t burn her a@@

The boys playing in the sand box
One creeping around like a fox
His mother trying to give him chicken pox

The blond running past
She isn’t running to fast
But she still isn’t last

The man with the guitar
Playing tunes from afar
People wanting him to go back to his car

The teens holding hands
Listening to their favorite bands
Dreaming of far off lands

The students studying under the tree
The shade doesn’t set them free
Longing to be lounging at the sea

The man fishing on the pier
Drinking his beer
I am sure the fish do not fear

The friends next to my side
The hamburgers they have fried
I won’t say a word, won’t hurt their pride

I on my quilt
Laying at a tilt
Poems are being built

For the last person I write
You must not think me very brite!
Am I being trite?


[comments] => 1 [counter] => 180 [topic] => 25 [informant] => LJ [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
Writing for Who

Contributed by LJ on Saturday, 24th August 2002 @ 07:32:33 AM in AEST
Topic: MiscPoems



Singing a little ditty, writing a little song
For whom I don’t know, let’s see who comes along
I hope this doesn't become too long

The woman walking her dog
Her head in the fog
She just tripped over a log!

The man on his bike
Trailing the little girl on her trike
Maybe his name is Mike?

The woman tanning in the grass
Tanning oil used in mass
Hope she doesn’t burn her a@@

The boys playing in the sand box
One creeping around like a fox
His mother trying to give him chicken pox

The blond running past
She isn’t running to fast
But she still isn’t last

The man with the guitar
Playing tunes from afar
People wanting him to go back to his car

The teens holding hands
Listening to their favorite bands
Dreaming of far off lands

The students studying under the tree
The shade doesn’t set them free
Longing to be lounging at the sea

The man fishing on the pier
Drinking his beer
I am sure the fish do not fear

The friends next to my side
The hamburgers they have fried
I won’t say a word, won’t hurt their pride

I on my quilt
Laying at a tilt
Poems are being built

For the last person I write
You must not think me very brite!
Am I being trite?






Copyright © LJ ... [ 2002-08-24 07:32:33]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: Writing for Who (User Rating: 1 )
by Jackee_line on Friday, 24th January 2003 @ 10:40:33 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Cute
a fine poem




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