Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 4
Sometimes I hear
the call of the wild
floating across
a warm day.
Or a foggy Friday
evening that would
be just perfect for
getting into trouble.
Pay day meant party time.
But even if I wanted
to go snooping around
there is nowhere left to go.
No one left to call to the bars.
No snow in August.
Chameleon
Written by
Chameleon  30/F/Ohio
(30/F/Ohio)   
  217
   Strawblee, Lydia, rick and November Sky
Please log in to view and add comments on poems