Dicky Mellows

a poem by Ash sarge, USA

In a sleepy town,
That has nothing unsual,
Sits a grumpy old crone,
Teaching young minds,
In school.

She has no love,
She has no life,
Well, maybe some,
From the guy,
In a polka dot tie.

Laughter brings her back,
Small fingers to smack
The ruler, breaks in two,
Reminding her,
She once had two.

Polka dot tie,
Stops for lunch,
Speaks sweet nothings,
Of possibilities, and such.
The crones face turns red,
But, her stuffings fill with dread.

That night the inner witch,
Was through,
She did the numbers,
But the equations,
Were still a little loose.

What can replace,
Grinded away fun biscuts,
Apples, peaches, peanuts..
Or maybe Melons!

The crone cast a spell,
With hopes, of no longer,
Having to stuff,
Her harness.

But the spell tapped melons,
Did not bring the improvement,
She had sought,
Instead, they began to float,
And knock..

Then they as a pair,
Went out the window,
While Mr.Polka Dot tie,
Came up the walk...
With flowers.

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