sleep.
my gentle friend.
leaves me
bereft
when you are away.

missing
the serenity,
the warmth and comfort
the peace
of being folded
in your arms.

Wisty and Schmoo got into a fight,
They gave the warden quite a fright.

Wisty was shoveling with her spoon,
While Schmoo was providing a view of the moon.

Schmoo moved to the left
Leaving Wisty quite bereft,

Of cover in this circumstance.
Leaving the warden looking askance.

Imagine how quick he turned,
When seeing his sentencing about to be spurned.

Schmoo and Wisty started down the tunnel,
Poured themselves through as though through a funnel.

For years they had been hatching a plan,
To escape this jail, get away from the man.

And, now was their chance to find out who,
Could run the fastest, Wisty or Schmoo.

Through the tunnel underground,
Up through the soil, their feet did pound.

Waving to the warden they just knew,
They would escape any second, but for the pile of poo.

Slipped em, tripped em, made them fall,
All the warden could do was call.

Called for the hose, called for the nurse,
threatened them next time with a hearse.

And so ends Wisty and Schmoo's Great Escape.
Nothing more than a muddy scrape.

Wontons.

Wanting wontons.

Wantonly wanting wontons.

Wantonly wanting.

Wantonly.

Winging ponderously through the grey tortured sky,
A crane makes its way to its homeland.
Lightening blazes illuminating with weird yellowness
Torrents of storm rain plunging earthward.
There, sighted below, a car trundling through the downpour
Yet another traveler homeward bound.