On Saturday, I dropped syrup on my shoe. The stains are still there, so I thought I would celebrate the event with a poem. It is called "Syrup on the Shoe."
These drops of sticky sap fell through
Syrup
on the Shoe
Pancake
clouds in skies of blue
Dropped
sugared glassy beads on cue
And rained their maple
goodness goo
These drops of sticky sap fell through
Left
shiny stains alit with hue
But,
lo, the act was seen by few
Was
seen by precious privileged few
Those
who did found life anew
Intrigued
by this what seemed askew
But all
their wit and all they knew
And all
the thought and high IQ
With
all their intellect in view
Left
learned men without a clue
Their
guess, that it was formed from dew
A lamb,
a simple village ewe
Could
see that this would be untrue
But
thinking men see red for blue
See red
for green and gold and blue
Not the
booming of a Jersey’s moo
Nor
quiet of a kitten’s mew
Nor the
scent of every mother’s stew
Could
now distract this thoughtful crew
Was its
source this human zoo?
Was it
dropped from bottled glue?
Without
end, thoughts grew and grew
‘Til a
man whose thoughts they drew
Said,
‘Tis only syrup on my….”
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