Since today is ‘brother day’ [I posted some riddles written with another brother here], below is a poem written with my brother Rob when we were both quite young — early teens? pre-teens?
Silly is good. Weebles, if you don’t know, are toys from my youth [link]
the untiring sound of scraping your dog
the wonderful feel of bumps on a log
the pleasant aroma of reheated gloves
the inflatable raft of your only true love
bowling balls marching from here to Siam
the congested sinus of Lizzie the lamb
the rhythmic laughter of Weebles at play
the croak of a needle that’s lost in the hay
the hum of a hummingbird not told the words
the triumphant bugle of elephant birds
the innocent fungus infesting the crown
the munching of Freetos to Sweet Georgia Brown
the puckered-up thumbprint from sucking your thumb
the end of this poem most surely has come