Some are born to meddle like a peddle
They weave books hand by hand.
Some are meddling for the purpose of becoming a ream
Waiting for a penny like Wendy.
Right now, they grin hardly
Tomorrow, their grins will fall shortly
For Grim, will fetch them into their beds to pay the price of their meddling.
Meddling with the world that are not theirs.
YOU ARE READING
THE DARK kNIGHT: INTO THE NIGHT
PoetryThis is a 3rd book poem of 21st Century poems. Come on lezz read!
