Tip-tapping my way through the plate
I prefer the snacks
Would put them in a crate
And run out from the back
Windowed shadows reflect an interesting shade
Is that how I was made?
Well I won't bother becoming
A physicist, so cunning
YOU ARE READING
Words Floating In The Wind
Poetrythe verses that never made it. the floating thoughts of the author in a way not yet revealed. stay tuned for these thoughts
