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There's so many wacky people
Some say that I am one
If its true what they are saying
Then let us sing a wacky song.

It's not a Crime to be wacky
Sometimes it can amuse
Wacky can make one happy
Such a tonic and that is true.

There's many ways to be wacky
With the things we say and do
It starts when we get chatty
With those crazy words we use.

Some people seem so serious
No wackiness in there lives
But they are not oblivious
To the wacky world outside.

So if many of us are wacky
And it cannot be proven wrong
Then let us get together
And we all can sing along.
Just a wacky poem that's all.
Round and round on the money go round
Your hopes they kept on turning
Those fortunes ran dry no wealth was found
It's the music game you were learning.

Not all that glitters is made of gold
And it's not always greener on the other side
You followed your dream giving your soul
Then your hopes they  passed you by.

your futue was sealed through rose coloured glasses
You looked at your world through a crystal ball
You thought your name would reach the massis
Only to find they weren't there at all.

Now singing your songs just to get by
You tried to aim for the stars
You used to play in concert halls
These days it's clubs and bars.

The music world's not what it seems
It is the nature of the game
Now your looking back on broken dreams
There was never that Hall of fame.

So when you made it too the top
There was only one way you could go
And when that time your music stoped
You were back on earth below .
The music world in the main stream is fast paced
Many carry on with music after fame.,Seen so many
Who were so well known who we rarely hear now but still
Great .It's the nature of the game.
Many leaves have fallen
Where we live here on the wood
It seems those leaves are calling
We would answer them if we could.

For we are like those leaves
That wither and they die
Our lives can be compared to seeds
We are mortal you and I.

We all are like the seasons
They come and then they go
Then there are many reasons
One day we all will know.

There really are many mysterious
Some strange some weard some good
Within this small community
Called the woodland Neighbourhood.

So let us all remember
When we see those fallen leaves
From spring until September
The answers are within the trees.
We live on a place called the wood
Surrounded by trees and birds of every kind.
This is a metaphorical poem and somewhat symbolic.
Playground full of children
Running having fun
Living out there childhood
Like children have always done
Not knowing of the future
And what they will go through
There is a wind that's blowing
Were is it heading too .?
Unrest upon the horizon
It can be seen above the clouds .
And there will be much friction
There within the crowds .
Then there will be a rising
And then there will be a fall
And many of those young men
Will answer to the country's call.
During the second world and not forgetting the first
World war many young men as young as 18 years old
Answered the country's call to go to war.looking at the world
In modern times young men all over the world are still going
To war young men and also women.
Outside its cold the weather is bleak
Tired and weary longing for sleep
Sitting here by the old log fire
It's cosy and warm the flames rise higher.

Looking outside its starting to snow
We are staying here nowhere to go
Very soon we will be off to bed
Jack frost outside every ones dread.

Winter is fierce an unpredictable force
And we can hear it howling outside our door
Very soon it will be time to retire
As the flames slow down in the old log fire.

Now Dreamland is waiting we can hear it call
Let's say goodnight to the winter fall
We shall close our eyes throughout the night
And our dreams and thoughts will take to flight

Time to rest tommorow  will keep
It's freezing outside the snow is deep
Now tomorrow will start another day
And the old log fire will burn again.
Freezing cold last night the cold weather certainly helps me
Apriesiate a warm bed.nevertheless can't help thinking of
Those many Homeless in our town's and around our city's.
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
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