Hey Buddy Poem by John Stetson
Hey Buddy
Buddy Blue visits, of an afternoon.
He flits from picket to picket
before darting to the blade.
To snack?
To inspect?
To pause and reflect?
He tarries not.
He's here and not.
His is the tweet I'd like to speak.
Jays are bullies I've been told.
Blunt and bleak.
Bad and bold.
But til through sharp lips
I've been told,
I'll hold my tongue
and hope
that he
grows old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 2:19:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
