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 Mud Trails to Destruction
That youngest buddy of mine
is quite a character, no doubt,
His stories have no end, constant food
he can not do without.
When it rains, he’s a walking mud-hole
every step he leaves a pile,
Especially when he comes inside
that’s when a frown replaces my smile.
He’s a happy stick of dynamite
looking for something to destroy,
Cinder blocks have no chance
as this is one rough little boy.
As he gets a little older
I hope he calms down a bit,
For each time he comes to visit
it looks like a small tornado has hit.
He keeps us on our toes as we jump
with each crash or thud,
We run to the scene of the crime
to see if there’s any blood.
JRS © 5-2-02
The "Okie" Poet
All poems copyrighted
ã1997-... Spring Creations
The "Okie" Poet
All Rights Reserved
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