Around my kitchen sink a line,
Like rush hour traffic,
I clean and clean,
But they seem to of food find…
In the bathroom they send scouts,
But their mates do pout,
Most flow down the drain,
Drowned, you’d think they have a bigger brain…
My sweets in the fridge,
No food with a ridge,
From the sink they build a bridge,
Damned ants though have yet to find my pants…
© ed J 4/25/07
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Love Tinka
A cracker of a poem.
Georg
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling
Either would be dangerous!! lol
Thanks,
Dan
PS They always, eventually, head for the pants.