Wrinkled The Eyebrows Poem by James McLain

Always, red it was one long period of lunching with
school the next day,
observing its jump. It's face' seen is felt;
it had been, they thinking a manner or another,
covered simple by a dress of it.
It was annoyed.
Its trousers is felt tighter.
And he didn't smile of it to them then.
It wrinkled the eyebrows.
It wrinkled the eyebrows so much that, later,
when he thought that look deprived, alarmed and on fire,
she realized that with the astute smile a book worms of
it had allotted to it
was probable a product only of its head-and that it was too
innocent of she,
by conceiving it, had picture pink framed. Also, he would think,
for many the moons, of all this day's smiling,
that it knew this heart she had made, off wearing it.