I think now to be quiet: Sunderland: The wind from the west was unseasonably warm, like the breath of spring tickling the buds of the tall waving trees. And I decided that...
A poem about an ogre.
I sometimes feel like that ogre. I've all sorts of crap physical problems that aren't getting better with age, and I was never pretty or popular to begin with.
Then again, maybe the ogre is an all right sort, if people would just get to know him a little.
2 comments:
I like Ogre's. Ogre's are cool unless they eat my leg. No Ogre has yet so I still like 'em.
Nah, I'm not much interested in eating legs. I prefer pie.
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