The Look of Things
Admiring the confidence of another
Got the body in the shape of a champ
Much more valuable than a stamp
Playing in the fields until it gets cold
Still looking pretty when you will get old
A real smart lady always so bubbly
Never seemed to care when people called you ugly
I really don't Mind how you look
Because you are sharp as as a hook
About the Creator
Forest Green
Hi. I am a writer with some years of experiences, although I am still working out the progress in my work. I make different types of stories that I hope many will enjoy. I also appreciate tips, and would like my stories should be noticed.
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More stories from Forest Green and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Dryads are Calling
They say the forest by Phoenix River sings. Perhaps it is just the wind howling through the leaves, or a particular birdsong. But Percy Fisher knows better; he knows what lies in those woods, and he knows that the forest sings of his demise.
By Leigh Hooperabout 22 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Nice poem and beauty is in the eye of the beholder as the saying goes.