A tick upon the primrose path
made Franny start to sway.
It jumped up in her nose, you see
and there began to play
a tune about old Maplehurst
upon its red guitar,
the smallest one you’ll ever see
not here nor very far.
The tick had been at Maplehurst,
one of the very few
who was not killed amidst the strife
and did not get the flu.
So many others lost their lives
in battles fought out there,
but not the tick in Franny’s nose.
I know that seems unfair.
It’s not for us to understand.
We’re not to question why.
Some of us just have the luck.
Some of us just die.
Some of us just have a tick
playing music in our noses,
but that’s our fault for bending down
to smell the lovely roses.
18 August 2006
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2 comments:
you are, by far, the most talented teacher, poet, and person that i have ever come across. Your poems are truely inspiring and I look forward to reading more of them soon. I miss your teaching. Happy new year to you and Ms. Vanest. Best of luck for the new year!
Wow, that's inspiring! Thanks for your comment, Ria.
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