It’s just not fair
When my throat gets tight
And my nose gets stuffy,
My legs get achy
And my eyes get puffy
Just one little sniff
And I’m sent to my doom
Mom changes the sheets
And I’m stuck in my room
It’s not fair
When I’m not thirsty
She still makes me drink tea.
It’s not like she cares
That it makes me go pee.
I finally feel good
And she says I must sleep.
I want to go play,
But I can’t say a peep.
It’s not fair
That when I’ve escaped
And I’m free on my own
She doesn’t notice
That she’s left me alone.
She’s far too busy
Nursing my little brother
Who strangely is sick
From some reason or other.
She isn’t bothered
That I’m feeling my best.
She’s busy with him
Making sure he gets rest.
3 comments:
Oh, my goodness...I didn't know you could write children's poetry too. That's one of my favorite genres. I like 'em funny like this.
When I taught we had a student postal system in the school, and each of us had to name our rooms a street name (our hall was the town). My street was Lit Attic Lane because we read so much Shel Silverstein.
A school postal system sounds fantastic. How did that work? I love the name you picked.
There was a program through the post office called "Wee Deliver." The students were the postal employees and delivered the mail to the addresses assigned to the entire school.
It was fun for them, but since the teachers didn't read or correct mail, the kids didn't seem to be learning much about mechanics, grammar, or spelling except on the outside of the letter. (It was returned to sender if incorrectly addressed, or stamped.)
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