My Crooked Point

Susan Owens
A crooked man
With a crooked stare
Sits upon a crooked chair
With Rice cake upon his hair
And smells of crookedness in the air

Across the room she sat
Pointy, her cat, lay upon across her lap
Everything upon this woman was a point
From her hat to her nose
Right down to the shoes upon her toes

Oh how pointy she appeared
Not at all like the crooked man
Not in a million years
You see the crooked man could cry no tears
And she with the points could not stop
The crooked man saw her come from a mile away
He saw his chance and grabbed her hat
Quickly he collected her tears
Tucked them away in his crooked cave
Where they'd be safe
Til' his crying day

Published by Susan Owens

I believe that there is more to life then what meets the eye.  View profile

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