Alas, on the shore,
A wonderful score,
Of starfish the color of blood.
They washed here from deep,
The home where they creep,
Down in the murky black mud.
Ahoy, on the beach,
Blue foots do screech.
They are such a lively bunch.
They come from the land,
In the trees, not the sand,
Here for their small, scaly lunch.
Haza! By the cliff,
A small wooden skiff,
That seems to have drifted away.
But wait! There's more!
Look by the fore!
Our crew has floated a'stray!
3/23/2016
YOU ARE READING
Poems, or Whatever
Poetrya place for me to keep track of the poems i write, mostly for school, some not - some of these are several years old, oops
