How many pennies do you think it takes to win a rapid fire round?
Or sniff around and stay in position as the perfect blood hound?
Or rev up a thousand mighty horses back and forth?
Or be a piece of livery in the honourable king’s court?
Or sunsets stripped down to naughty nothingness?
Merry go round evenings spent looking for just a little dress?
Or rafting in delectable, gushing rivers of liquid gold
Or what a few more loosened knots might just unfold!
“But Mama, doodles and books and even little balls of wool?”
“Dear, Dear” red pursed lips “we don’t want you growing up a fool!”
By Anuvab Chattopadhyay
who is a poet who prefers reading articles on cars, technology, lifestyle, biographies and music in his spare time.
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