Poems from PEARLY KAY
i was five and he was six
he rode down horses made of sticks
he was black and i was white
he would always win the fight
bang! bang!
he shot...
sometimes wonder
crosses my mind
how she came about to be in this world
she is one graceful teacher
born as if by a mistake of fate
into...
like an amphibian
scaled and tailed
drab as a dead man's hand
i could say you might
be soft inside and
certainly rough on the out side...
with feet like those of a simple bird
shaped by mother nature
one could really doubt
the strength it may carry
proudly
you seclude yourself...
unique in every spiece
one of a kind in each
diagonally running through the nose
seeming parallel only to rub shoulders at the back
bands...