Pout Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I asked the Felon what he thought about this thorn,
he said 'a rose is like a portrait all aglow,
but venture close and you could have your fabric torn
you need to stand and ask for lovely words to flow.
Only the sweetness of a rose can ever still
a tiny wound inflicted, healing is complete,
and words of love, my friend, will conquer any hill
but I was thinking now I'd rest here on this sheet.'

He turned to snuggle to the pillow, (well good night) ,
not being talkative, I wonder what he knows,
though as for me, I might fly higher than a kite
and soar to places where the lava truly flows.