Monday, June 10, 2013

Skeltonic poem

Here I Come

I long to be outside
where I can play and hide.
Part of me has died
staying in my home.
I’d rather roam,
explore and comb
the neighborhood.
I think I should.
It would be good
to get out of town,
chase away this frown,
be a clown,
no longer down
in the dumps
with goose bumps
of anticipation
with no relation
to boredom or hum drum.
Vacation, here I come.

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