Further South…

Traveling, one finds many things,

Big balls of twine,

Rubber bands wrapped so fine,

Weather approaching a fine line,

Beaches clean, streets kept so fine,

Nothing like the place I come from, yes mine…

One also finds, in their travels, people

In the south, where they are the friendliest,

They will talk and talk, a never-ending barrage of conversation…

But move to the north, above the Mason Dixon line,

There you will most likely find,

Conversations so short, you would think you did smell,

Yes they do not, in the north, talk,

What they usually do it seems is walk,

Supposedly minding their own business,

And this is where I do balk…

I love to talk, to converse, to squawk,

Constantly you will find me, trying to strike up a conversation,

Even with a tree, my dog, or the leaves,

For trying to talk to anyone up north,

One has a better chance discussing the weather,

With an inanimate object, like a tree, see?

But for now, gotta live where I live,

I got Rufuz to talk with; he is not much on answering,

As he is kinda quiet and reserved,

So I live with that and strive to speak,

To as many living beings that have beaks,

Not, unfortunately, much of a treat…

        © ed – 3/17/04