In pal group of sorts,
Young lads strolled by,
Clutching their trailing backpacks.
Up my spectacles I peeped,
The bus hadn’t arrived,
So I kept on itching me wart.

Cornered myself right,
Where I would lean,
Be fond of nature,
How lowly we see these things
Seeing lovely canaries
Taking on one another in flight.

A little o’er some minutes skipped by,
How time flies;
Som’a my sanity still in check.
A passing car:
A splashing mar on my maroon pants,
In road-rush-water style.

Cold flutters,
The unattending ave company,
Suspending the fun for a shower,
Eyescaping the sight.
Nay, not for the wonders of earth
Escaping an orator’s stutter.

Such of which tale,
Tales of showering birds,
They rowed feathers in a shower
And chattered and chirped in a pool,
This beside a bus-stop tent,
Where I looked on,' unstaled.