THE TALKER
People called him windy,
He was full of hot air.
He could talk up a storm,
And still have words to spare.
He could talk all day,
And then talk all night.
You couldn’t shut him up,
Try as hard as you might.
He’d talk about this.
He’d talk about that.
He’d talk if he stood.
He’d talk if he sat.
He’d talk on the street.
He’d talk on the phone,
He’d talk to himself,
If he was all alone.
His vocabulary was extensive.
He knew words big and small.
But he could talk for hours,
And say nothing at all.
He can yak and blab,
No one else gets in a peep.
He has so much to say,
He even talks in his sleep.
He likes the sound of his own voice,
Of that there can be no doubt.
He has words in him,
And they just have to come out.
Michael D. Schafer
© August 4, 2018
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He likes to talk until you tell him you got to go away.
He yaks about nothing and will talk forever on the phone.
We unplugged the answering machine but he will talk wherever he roams.
I love my cousin, I know he means well.
But his non-stop conversing is like a conversation from hell!
Help!
Cheers,
Dan
Love ya!
Jane
Ron
Sandie