(Untitled)
In December we wait for the the cold. Wait waiting, wait waiting for the cooooooooold, togetheeeeeeer. Till we are grey and ooooooold.
Spring is for the birds and stinky pussy willows. That there Old Man belches and bellows.
Summer is queer.
Summer is here.
Lalala La
Spring is for the birds and stinky pussy willows. That there Old Man belches and bellows.
Summer is queer.
Summer is here.
Lalala La
Comments 1
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
NO!
That's not for you!
Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing."
-Dr Seuss
Reply
Leave a comment