Learn more about other poetry terms
Driving by the bar, we looked out the window. Three discarded pumpkins bobbed in the stream. I looked at my brother--five weeks after Halloween.
You are the last pumkin. Left bruised and misshapen, Nobody wants you. So you simply sit there, Watching even the most desperate of people Give you a look of disgust, And walk on by.
Fall is in the air Leaves falling, pumpkins carving The smell of spices
I ate a piece of pumpkin pie With whipping cream piled high And, finding I was hungry still, Took the pan and had my fill.
They kept the pumpkins
Hope was peeling an onion Her mind began to drift To a town she hadn’t seen quite awhile Where the leaves are changing and the air is crisp where her sister’s carving a jack-o-lantern
I went to the fair Hoping to make a find. Then I spotted a stand. It was one of a kind. All kinds of good pies Were setting right there. Could I choose from them all?