By Darlene Sprague
A-a-h spring is here and the snow is gone
Look outside something has undermined my lawn
Is it gophers that make these holes
Experts say its tiny moles
Piles of mud and furrows deep
Makes one wonder what’s so good to eat
If I could harness them and make a team
Rototilling the garden would be my scheme
When I see these piles of dirt, it makes me think
How to heck do they keep their little feet
so clean and so pink
By Wayne F. Burke
and the city hushed;
a somber hue
Scars of the brick buildings
wrinkles folded-in for night.
Black birds on the wing
beneath a charcoal sky
with pink ribbon.
Her Golden Hair
By Old George
Each morning she comes walking down.
The sun shines through her golden hair.
As she comes closer
I begin swimming happily about.
Then she feeds me
And I begin to pout.
How could she ever love me!
For I am but a trout.