Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2018
The smell of butter, the taste of flour,
Children will mutter for half an hour,
Until everyone's food arrives,
Mouths full and away with the cries,
Of chattering people and loud music,
Eating is the only language fluent.
Made this while waiting for breakfast... Also, I know the last line doesn't make sense. That's the point.
Sketcher
Written by
Sketcher  18/M/Blaine, Washington
(18/M/Blaine, Washington)   
232
     Sketcher and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems