Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2015
Nothin' left but empty pockets
And socks wit holes upon each heel.

All the good fings are swept away
Like a rotten banana peel.

Wit nowhere else to turn -
I turn to God.

Wit empty pockets
And holes in my socks -
I turn to God.

{ Weasel }
Hope you enjoy!
Thank you for reading.
Poem 29
© The Weasel
All rights reserved.
Written by
         The Sick Red Carnation, ryn, Perry, Ayla K, Crow and 28 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems