Shane - Poem by Marisa Horn
There once was a house, a circled shaped house, so round, so blue and so pink.
There was nothing inside, yes nothing inside, but a sad small tiny little sink.
This sink was unusual, it even had a name,
The name of this sink, in deed, was Shane.
Shane was different, and I’ll tell you why,
This sink named Shane, could laugh and could cry.
It all started when an apocalypse hit,
But only hit the rounded house, thats only where it hit.
Shane often got lonely, even cried that he was alone,
He felt as if he were lost in a creepy little dome.
Shane often got mad as he wondered why,
He couldn’t move, or walk, or fly!
Shane then accepted the fact that he would be there all alone,
But Shane wouldn’t stop wishing that he could leave that lonesome dome.
A few days later a light shined bright,
He wondered what it was, so near in sight.
Shane then yelled “hey, over here! Somebody help me please! ”
But sadly the light then faded, leaving Shane feeling as lonely as a single bee.
Suddenly Shane heard a bang! And a bang! He was shivering in fright,
All he wanted to do was fly high like a kite.
Shane closed his knobby eyes, and he prayed for the sounds to stop,
And as he was praying, he unexpectedly heard a plop!
There Shane the sink was, center stage in a room,
The room got very foggy, like a witch casting a spell with her broom.
Shane could no longer see, not see a thing in deed,
He was shaking with such horror; he felt he had to pee.
Then out of the blue something in the fog stood out,
It was a fish that popped out! And it was a trout!
This trout didn’t know how he got there, and neither did the sink,
But the trout did know one thing, that he got there in less than a blink.
In the end they were happy so, and they never wanted each other to go.
And they promised each other one thing, and they promised that they would,
The sink and the Trout had promised that they would remain best friends for good.
Comments about Shane by Marisa Horn
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl