Bad Streets Poem by Corey Fauchon
Bad Streets
The wind is blowing
Trees sway to & fro
The moon is glowing
There sits a lonely crow
The fence starts to rattle
The kids start their battle
The kids start to howl
As they begin to play foul
The streets run red
The kids go to bed
A cop walks his beat
He discovers the defeat
The church bells toll
The kids lie with the coal
The feel & sense no pain
They suddenly become sane
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 7:49:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
