Taco Tuesday
It’ll have to do
Until we can move to
The motherland.
Vagabond Prophet
Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Taco Tuesday
It’ll have to do
Until we can move to
The motherland.
The weather man gives me the finger
Says it’s gonna be a long one
Snow falls like a feather weight
To beat me to the punch
It cuts the chord
So the line stays quiet
So I simply shout
Sorry darling but I’m stuck out here
Creeping white
Scale the windows slowly
No power now
Frost outside and in
I can see my breath
Shaped like your name
I hope you find it
Because it’s my last.