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Aprimeman
M/USA Free time Hobby. All poems are mine, if you would like to use any of my poems, please contact me
Live today as if its your last, And reflect on the things of the past.
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Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 8:26 PM UTC
A Saying
Up at o'four thirty And down to bed at twenty-two A mother's lad he is, And a mother's lad he was. The trumpet's sound is the call of day And the call of the trumpet ends the day, But not the same. A mother's lad he is, And a mother's lad he was. The sounds of boots in perfect sync, Is interrupted in a blink. A mother's lad he is, And a mother's lad he was. A battle rages between the groups, But defeat is near to the troops. A mother's lad he is, And a mother's lad he was. Men and boys cry alike, As no help from allies is in sight. A mother's lad he is, And a mother's lad he was. War as it seem is not lifelike, Instead it causes death and fights. A mother's lad he is, And a mother's lad he was. Up at o'four thirty And down to bed at twenty-two This is a tale of a mother's lad, A mother's lad he was.
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Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 7:56 PM UTC
A Mother's Lad
There once was a boy named Steve, Who couldn't pull up his sleeve, So he gave it a tug, And tried a hug, But yet could not pull up his sleeve. Poor Steve!
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Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
Poor Steve