ding
dong
ding
ding
ding
ding
dong
we run away as fast as possible behind their bushes and wait
the door opens and an old man comes out yelling, "dang kids get off my property! I'll call the cops on ya'll"
we scram from the scene and run off laughing our fricken heads off
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CopyRight MyTimeWasYesterday
YOU ARE READING
The Expressionists
PoetryThey speak. I hear. I breath. He looks. They run. I look away. I turn back. They disappear. I wake up. They are gone. Them and he; are just shadows. -------- The Dreamer CopyRight MyTimeWasYesterday
