Thursday, July 05, 2018
Is a shiny spot where hair doesn't grow.
The skin is rough and a little bit red,
If you ask him why it's there, he won't know.
Old curmudgeons don't think of tomorrow,
Our far vision is fuzzy and narrow.
We carry joy in a bag of sorrow,
And a grudge in a small red wheelbarrow.
Curmudgeons ask questions incessantly,
To make long conversations unlikely.
For silence falls on the ear pleasantly,
And a wide open mouth is unsightly.
You wondered about the little red spot:
Well, the head is for real, the spot is not...
Curmudgeons can be fun.
Posted by Mick at 11:34 PM