Poetry Porch: Poetry


By Celia Gilbert

Rude fellow,
itís my house
and you donít even say hello.

If I donít exist
for you, are you saying
I donít matter?

I see you alone
but you have
more friends than I.

Is it my spilt milk
or my crumb
you desire?

Big to your little,
little to anotherís big . . .
all things measure.

When you were only a few
I laughed,
the many frighten.

How neat you are,
not a leg out
of place.

Black is always
in style. You know that
donít you?

You want something sweet,
so we do share

Copyright © 2015 by Celia Gilbert.