What are those dots?
Dots that scattered endlessly?
They looked like little pots
And were white probably
On a dark blanket they all spread
Like tiny grains on a wheat bread
But when the biggest dot goes up
All little dots disappear from the top
They must be afraid of this giant dot
Poor little dots engulfed by this pot
But when the biggest dot goes down
All the little dots goes around
If the blanket goes dark
Go outside to see these dots
Sit beside, lean on the bark
Watch the dots that looked like pots
YOU ARE READING
The Art Of Being Random
PoesíaA collection of poems I wrote that may sound weird. Be wary. They're definitely random. || I DO NOT own any of the IMAGES (except the cover) included here (but the poems came from my mind.) ||
