Few Inches Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Few Inches
A difference of a few inches
Counts big time within the species,
But I would rather stand very still
And let the red rubber ball
Sting my thigh, than play the game to the end.
Because even now the afternoon clouds
Are leaping like a herd of frightened elk
Over the ill-proportioned fences,
And soon mother and father's shift will end,
And they will be back around to drive me home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/28/2026 8:38:46 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
