Poems from Ross the Bard
When the colors in your tie-dye start to fade
There’s no magic in the Christmas Day Parade
No more sitting under oak trees for the shade...
On sheets of paper, I do make my home
A strange abode you may think it to be
Only this land to stride and freely roam
And swim in tranquil...
I exhude cold sighs
As I realize
That there is no prize
For my dull, brown eyes
To gaze upon
With tight lips
and stiff hips
I'm dragged...
The Sky wanted me to know It was there
So It knocked on my roof until I was aware
It drummed on the tin can in which I was sitting
And It...