I Am Writing These Poems From Inside

There Is A Place Where The Sidewalk Ends, And Before The Street Begins, And There The Grass Grows Soft And White, And There The Sun Burns Crimson Bright, And There The Moon-bird Rests From His Flight To Cool In The Peppermint Wind.

The Baby Bat Screamed Out In Fright, 'turn On The Dark, I'm Afraid Of The Light.

Talked My Head Off Worked My Tail Off Cried My Eyes Out Walked My Feet Off Sang My Heat Out So You See, There's Really Not Much Left Of Me.

I Said, "i'll Take The T-bone Steak." A Soft Voice Mooed, "oh Wow." And I Looked Up And Realized The Waitress Was A Cow. I Cried, "mistake--forget The The Steak. I'll Take The Chicken Then." I Heard A Cluck--'twas Just My Luck The Busboy Was A Hen. I Said, "okay No, Fowl Today. I'll Have The Seafood Dish." Then I Saw Through The Kitchen Door The Cook--he Was A Fish. I Screamed, "is There Anyone Workin' Here Who's An Onion Or A Beet? No? Your're Sure? Okay Then Friends, A Salad's What I'll Eat." They Looked At Me. "oh,no," They Said, "the Owner Is A Cabbage Head.

Teddy Said It Was A Hat, So I Put It On. Now Dad Is Saying, "where The Heck's The Toilet Plunger Gone?