Poor old Bill

Pitter patter on the window
is that the rain
or the man in a black cloak
tapping for attention
is that the wind blowing in the trees
or the man in a black cloak
whistling at me
is he coming for me
is it my time
is it my turn
dawn breaks
the doctor calls next door
poor old Bill
and I never said goodbye



Poetry by JohnJohn
Read 725 times
Written on 2015-07-13 at 14:26

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Oh dear. I would move address to get away from him :)
2015-07-16