Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Queen of France

Poetry: Little Sheep, little sheep

What does sex buy?
getting confused...
tallying into, the land that I lose.
heavy isn't it, quarters?
It was the music, I never knew.
couldn't even recognize,
the arbitraire in lyrics
smattering in titles,
completely unknown,

Little Sheep, little sheep,
what wolf are you?
imagine the outfit, so woolly too.

On all day,
constructs visit whats out,
go on and part with it,
he doesnt love you anyway,
he's just a guy,
we all want the same,
let your little sheeps out.

I kinda hate the crowd,
yopp'in at a woman, in quiets' loud.

How come the dancing men
entertain in groups?
seems strange an odd re-use.

Luckily we can write about butterflies also.
along comes natures lepidoptera on the free,
a real butterfly, a real papillion,
flitting on the flirtae,
flowers and bees.