Squirrel Popsicle
Morning time.
The daddy lets me out--where’s Mama? I pout!
Run, run, smash into the door.
I pushes me out--I go out before.
(Hobbes is not the Alpha Male!)
Sniff, smell. Whoa! Dead--something dead!
Crunch!
I crunches it in my mouth!
A squirrel popsicle! Oh most YUM! My mouth drips goo!
Rip!
Aroof!
The daddy grabbed my prize.
He throws it over the fence. How dense!
My crunchy squirrel’s demise . . . .
Goodbye, my popsicle.
Good bye.
--by Calvin
Mousey: A Poem
Sticky. Dead. A Mouse.
I take. I hold in my mouth.
The Mama grabs--she holds a biscuit out.
I bite. I swallow.
Mouse and biscuit whole.
Burp.
--by Hobbes
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1 comment:
By the way, I am no longer allowing anyone to comment on my blog. Someone using Blogger started leaving vicious comments on my blog about my mom. There's no way to report people who leave such comments, so the only way I can keep it from happening is basically to bar comments completely.
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