With Dirty Hands Poem by Eric Ericson
With Dirty Hands
Rating: ★5.0
Eye of newt and wing of bat,
a little bit of this and that,
some cake, a clock with broke alarm,
the insect crawling on my arm,
into the caldron o'er the fire
boil and bubble, flames rush higher.
No it's not some witches brew
and Halloween's not passing through.
We're camping in the wilderness
and it's my turn to make dinner.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: humor
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4/24/2024 3:06:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A great poem. The ending certainly wasn't what I was expecting. Thank you.