Pitiful, Petulant, Pouting, Pete [ His Story] Poem by cheryl davis miller

Little petulant pouting Pete;
he was use to having his way.
Accustomed to others waiting,
to hear whatever he would say.

His Grannie had tried to tell him,
you must stop; sticking your lip out.
Pete, you look just like a baby,
when you start to whimper and pout.

Pete rose to the heights of power.
Proclaiming he’d serve everyone.
Yet all were dis-appointed when,
Pete’s self-serving race had been won.
Thought of as; the bright shining boy.
A glimmer of hope to them all.
He was who they had awaited.
He had come to answer the call.

Ladies would swoon and men would cry,
each time that they would hear him speak.
They thought he was the Messiah,
till they learned that he was so weak.

Everything he attempted fell;
apart before their very eyes.
Excuses grew hard to think of.
They tired of pouting Pete’s cries.

At last those who’d fought the hardest,
decided to throw the towel in.
Tripped on his lip while departing,
declaring, ” They’ll be back again.”


c.d.m.10/25/13