I've been poked in the eye,
by a mischievous sky,
and I can't find the words,
or the rhyme or reasons why;
I've been clipped round the ear,
by a rogue called fear,
took one step back, not two,
and travelled on the back of a bee;
I've been slapped in the face,
by a fiend from outer space,
and why I forget to remember,
why I don't win the race;
I've been bashed on the chin,
by an imp with a grin,
and why I don't really know,
which I dislike the least:
Well I guess that must be,
just the nature of the beast.
© 2015
Brian J Stafford
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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