Is It Poetry
Sugar Mom-Ma Where are You Now;
Soon I must let go too dig my grave.
If you don't come real soon.
You have money, I have seen your gold.
I have seen it go, forever green, forever green
and you have never seemed so kind too me.
There is Nothing that I have,
and you could make it better, my whole world.
My Sugar Mom-ma, I must can I, hold those globes,
both apples and a peach moist raisin is your sun.
I would lift each one and bath it every night.
Sipping wine too doze you would then know,
It is my pleasure after and I would.
While I buff each moon so pale it shines,
and you would never wake in time too find it deep and true.
I should know as I move deftly round your smile.
After each massage I give each part is Once inside.
Cucumbers for your eye balls, sliced real thick and I.
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Comments about this poem (Sugar Mom-Ma by Is It Poetry )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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