Bolton out of the blue Dept.

In The Moody

That onion in my sandwich dropped my smile
To just a line across—near to a frown.
And glower is my gloomy facial style
Adopted when the crusts are way too brown.

Last Saturday the garden raised my ire
To see one weed while wandering in the beds.
I hope they keep it down ‘til I retire,
And that this doesn’t warrant soothing meds.

Another thing to make me arch my brow
Is talk above a whisper near the stacks.
Some voices call to mind a horse or cow,
And libraries are places to relax.

It’s clear, I’m of those temperamental men
Who should never even visit the UN.

   posted by Stephen at 3:32 PM | Plink