Little King of Sorrows
At the ripe old age of 4.
She stands there at the door.
Carebear suitcase packed and ready.
Dora fruit snacks and her teddy.
The rules were just too much.
Countless things she couldn't touch.
The bed was not for jumping.
The chairs not made for slumping.
She never found it fair,
that she shouldn't cut her hair.
Or paint the cat with mustard,
and share her favorite custard.
She tried so hard to plead her case,
of all the marker upon her face.
Over tea her doll did say,
how fabulous she looked that way.
All those meals she didn't desire.
The sight of candles in the drier.
Every fun thing was a no.
She just knew she had to go.
'I'm never coming back' she said.
Her mother smiles and nods her head.
'Guess these toys I'll give away,
I'll miss you tons, enjoy your day.'
Frozen still with hands on hips,
as mother pulls down chocolate chips.
'Perhaps I'll stay just one more night.'
Her mother laughs and says 'Alright'.
© 2013 L.K.Sorrows
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Chips Ahoy by Little King of Sorrows )
- One Mode of Mortal Devotion, William Park
- Glow worm, Mark Heathcote
- FOOT STEPS, Harold R Hunt Sr
- The Highest Human Virtue Surprisingly Is.., Mr. Nobody
- Time Marches on, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Our First Day, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Another Day, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Who Am I?, Harold R Hunt Sr
- A letter to you, Harold R Hunt Sr
- What are moms made of?, Harold R Hunt Sr
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