Bite-sized Granules Of Compassionate Crunchiness
I think she may be going mad
And who is there to blame?
Fate? Genes? Herself? Her mother or her dad?
Or her "best friend" who sullied her good name?
I think she may be on the edge
And who will calm her down?
The pharmacist? The priest? The man who prunes the hedge?
That drunk under the overpass downtown?
I think she may be losing it
And who can help her now?
A shaman or some quack? That late night TV wit?
I fear that she's beyond our help, poor cow
Contributors: | F, N, Beefy. |
Poem finished: | 8th September 2004 by F. |