The old perverbial smoking gun
as they say
just for fun
I shot it one day
shot it into a tree
the sap began to seep
down on my knee
I began to weep
I thought I killed it dead
being a child
something in my head
just went wild
I'm glad it was a tree
and not a person
or I would forever be
in a prison
the tree never died
its alive today
I still cried
and put my gun away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Our rule on any gun Was simple and yet retained the fun. Never shoot anything You aren't prepared to bring To the kitchen table And eat it if your able. Seemed such a simple rule Until a new rain gauge appeared On a fence post fairly near. A quick pop and there was, for all to see The single hole made by the BB. At the bottom of the plastic Was this fantastic Hole that drained the water Till none remained in short order. The rule was suspended that day And the gun was put away Only to be taken out When no rain gauges were about. s