We are dead in your holy eyes
and believed in your plaintive cries
as we continue these playful lies.
You prefer the likes of cream pies
and the fluffy clouds in disguise
with no more trails left in the skies.
As you bid us your fond goodbyes,
you will forget our sad demise.
As your love for us slowly dies,
you will remember our supplies.
This paper tiger will surprise.
Fools are without discernment wise.
A poem of two, six-lined stanzas with eight syllables in monorhymes.
Copyright © 2007 by Fluffy von der Flynn. All rights reserved.