Ima Ryma Poems
|1801.||Flying Carpet Of Solomon||2/25/2015|
|1803.||Cold Turkey Or Else||10/30/2007|
|1807.||A Dog Of Few Words||10/18/2007|
A Dog Of Few Words
A clerk said, 'Next in line - this way.'
A dog spoke up, 'I guess I am.'
'What can we do for you today? '
'I want to send a telegram.'
The clerk handed the dog a note.
'You'll have to write it out somehow.'
The dog took pen in teeth and wrote,
'Bow wow wow, bow wow wow, bow wow.'
The clerk read what the dog had penned.
'One to ten words have the same fees.'
'There's eight words now, so you can send'
'Another 'bow wow' if you please.'
'No, ' the dog said, 'Just between us, '
'One more would sound ridiculous.'
The old dead tree stood on a hill,
An ugliness of jagged rot,
In looming form so dark and still
Against the sun - a lonely blot.
My folks had told me not to play
Around that tree; and so of course
I headed for it right away,
Drawn by its mysterious force.
There was an urge I would not stop.