•  Insomnia


    Mr. Rat stays in his hole
    Cannot s’eep tonight at all.
    He tosses, turns into his bed,
    He stares at the moon ahead. 

    If only the reeds were quiet,
    Wouldn't rustle, wouldn't riot,
    From his bed he could then hear
    The moon gliding, coming near. 


    Previous Poem The Paper Airplane
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