Simon the rock

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sleep my dearest children
Til morning does the sun rise
Think about wonderful things
Before the twinkling moon dies
About the island of rejected toys
And be thankful for legal dreams
And spider princes hear what they say
For just apperance is nothing what it seems
Forget about the greed monsters
Or the ones that hide under your bed
Only think of nice little things
To occupy your head

Submitted: March 25, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 25, 2013



this is simon the rock

his head made of granite and his body of slate and his eyes small pits of sod

left in the dirt, the rain, and sun he gave off the smell of cod

Though days of the worst no sun in the sky simon would stare and sit

a hint of a smile stretched ear to ear. Sorrow? Not even a bit

he could see the other children in the school nearby as he closed his eyes to dream

of being with them or playing with them perhaps be skipped down the stream

as the day turned to night and the smell of rain grew, simon watched and waited

Something was going to happen, he knew, he highly anticipated

a heavy wind blew, the trees shook but simon didn't give it a glance

Was this the time to fulfill his dream? Maybe this was his chance

With a pull and a twist he rolled onto the road his smile dotted with creases

But as a car drove by and crushed him up he was nothing more than a few pieces

Now this is simon the rock

His head was of granite his body once black and greyish slate

And his small pit eyes had but one small tear to tell his lonely fate

© Copyright 2020 caecus luna. All rights reserved.

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