Is It Poetry
Lonely My Banana
Yellow full and ripe or green with envy.
I've never seen one looking, blue with soul.
Roses shed their petals, white are pearls.
Singing words like this and sweet is prose.
Long and bent, when yellow, squeezed and pulled.
My banana is my song, the night grows short.
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Comments about this poem (Lonely My Banana by Is It Poetry )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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