Poem Hunter
JP (Scratches on the page, making noise. / New York City)


Into the attic I creep.
Just for a tiny peak.
They won't ever know.
I'll go real slow.

A pirate trunk to find.
Jolly Roger, and that kind.
Slowly open to look.
It's empty but one book.

Soiled and old, yet it gleams.
First page open by seam.
Dear Diary, today I cry.
I met this nice guy.

vrom my poetry book DREAMS 1

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Rudyard Kipling


Comments (1)

Very nice poem! Thanks for sharing!