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Bleeding Sheep Where with all she has the power To diminish all as if God were in her dower Plainly put forth she’ll never say That, “I was the one who did the wrong today.†No, “sorry†was never on her tongue My pride was put aside or wiped up with the dog’s dung. In fact she’ll never read this, my heart, She’s more concerned about her first fart. Oh the day when I fail or slip away Beneath her stress driven worries or her shrew way, I’ll dance my way to hell on bare feet Only if I don’t have to hear her bleat. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2011-12-24 17:32:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
David,
This sounds like a bad day in the barnyard!
I hope it turns to better for the holidays.
I know at times I wish another would shut the .... up.
I even bought a glass cup reading Have a big cup of shut the .... up!
Your poem teeters me on the edge.
Speak up or shut up.
Speaking up can prove to be my downfall.
Dellena