Wednesday, December 1, 2010
This truly is the case of being a poet and I didn't know it. Pontificating upon the curious cases of tumbleweave littering Brooklyn, I was struck with a creative inspiration from God. BEHOLD! Tumbleweave: A Poem.
Where do the tumbleweave go?
Is there no hair onto which they can sew?
No scalp wither to pretend to grow?
Nary an aid for the folically po'?
Why do the tumbleweave leave?
Is it an insult to be a weave?
Do they exit with a giant heave?
Searching for sidewalks on which to cleave?
Wither pony will you no longer tail?
Released from your sewn in jail -
Will you thrive in a birds nest, or just fail?