PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant...If I Think I Be

PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant...If I Think I Be

In the beginning God created

Shortly thereafter, we mated

To birth our little tykes

With likes, trikes and bikes

We teach a gentle platitude

To counter their nasty attitude

Hoping to become one

A family having fun

But busy they are with the school

Treating us like the doddering fool

They possess all the things

Suburban living brings

And stare at a screen

We pray it’s not obscene

As the time doth truly pass

They grow like weeds in grass

But refuse to mow the lawn

Occupied from dusk ’til dawn

We wait for a while

Just to view a little smile

And yearn for some chatter

The subject doesn’t matter

Then one day they are grown

Launching on their own

Will they make a courtesy call,

Showing care for us at all?

Or retreat to romantic meditation,

To pursue their own procreation?

Yea, the cycle is kept alive

So our species can survive

Yet here we are, your founders

Time slips away, then flounders

But complaining is a tumble to insane

Unleashing grim ghosts and clogging the brain

Therefore if I think, I be

And this be–is truly me.

Published by Jonathan Cring

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