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SHE WAS A HE


Young Billy he thought 

That was he was in love

With a sweet little thing

As cute as a bug

 

Her name was Molly

All points and curves

So beautiful she was

That I don't have the words

 

Then Billy did notice 

That she had really big hands

And that very night 

He learned Molly was a man

 

But Billy told no one

He'd already lost his heart

Not to a girl named Molly

But to a boy named Bart

 

        THE END

 

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THE CROW

HELLO. I think that poetry should rhyme. If it doesn't rhyme, it's just talk. Poetry should be a celebration not a conversation. - The Crow

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