Under the tattered roof of Paapa I crawl
Seeking a view of the world away
That which I fear to step into
For its fathers plunge into lost battles like Humpty Dumpty
Claiming to be pointless achievers like Itsy Betsy
Sharing to strangers what we cry for like the baa black sheep
Squezing us into our mud holes like the little fox
Yet they claim to be flying like the two little black birds
But as great as they seem be
But their roots are from specs like lion’s waist.
I snuggle under my cloth
For I fear for the lot
I shall snore over their lust
For into the dungeons hey shall be casted
For its there their solace awaits them.
The Haymaker © 2014