do any members read or write poetry ?

this was funny !
is this familiar to you ?

Habit's

Our grand daughter Rosemarie has long blonde flowing hair
she ties it up with ribbons and gives it lots of care
shes fortunate to have it , but lately Heaven knows
shes learned a filthy habit, she sits and picks her nose

Her eyes are bright and beautuful, an amber shade of brown
the lashes long and truly truly soft as eiderdown
im always kind and gentle, but my anger grows and grows
cause its not coincidential that she sits and picks her nose

I told her pay attention and stop A-doin that
go and use a tissue and don't aggravate me pet
but do i have to tell you when the hankie overflows
she wraps it round her finger nail then sticks it up her nose

And when her picks successful she hides the stuff shes found
between her finger and her thumb and rolls it round and round
she looks to see whose watching then bingo ,off it goes
she flicks it with her finger nail then sits and picks her nose

I've thought of buying scissors to trim her nails real short
or tie her hands behind her back but thats a last resort
for 'tho' her thumbs her preference shed try it with her toes
so i watch with some indifference when she sits and picks her nose.
 
just thought i would post another poem.

The Gold Miners Rest

On the peaks of Mount Logan, I mushed our tobogan
Heading for Dawson and spring
As I camped in the Yukon,the memories of Tuscon
Were bright unforgetable things
The Klondyke had gold, but im fast growing old
And the prospecting fields have gone dead
So I traded these shallows, of cut throats and gallows
For soft feathered pillows, and soft feathered beds.

Its been more than a decade since Dougie and I made
A bargain while toiling for gold
We both had the notion, the wild Artic Ocean
Held more than the frost and the cold
In the short Yukon Basin, we spent nights and days in
The search for a strike and a dream
He was never a quitter, but in tempratures bitter
He died for the glitter, he died for the gleam.

I knelt down beside him, just as his God cried him
His pulse hardly beating at all
He whipspered and begged, that his bones would be laid
Far away from the frost and the cold
As he passed me his poke, his pump stumbled and broke
And I knew he'd been begging for trust
So the promise I made HIM, I never betrayed him
I carried and laid him, in peace, in the dust.

In DAWSON I gave you a home
A green plot of land, with your name on a stone
Although its not much, it's the end of the search
The promise I made you, a debt I repaid you
I carried and laid you,Through blizzards and storms
To DAWSON and gave you a home.

Edde Graham.
 
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