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Book 20 Page 29
They call me a pessimist
I sometimes think I’m the world’s best or perhaps; worst pessimist.
I can’t tell any more!!!
I don’t know if my cup’s empty,
or over spilling to the fore.
All I know is that nothing is good enough, /
nothing seems to be what it should.
I think I should write a poem about this.
But that wouldn’t do any good!
My friends tell me to stop moaning,
but I usually am not aware that I was.
For moaning comes quite natural to me,
why! I don’t know, ‘it’s just because, that’s why!’
And when I go out for dinner,
I always complain about the food.
And my friends get quite embarrassed,
with ‘me’ complaining attitude.
But I really don’t mean no harm,
I’m really (deep down) a nice guy with charm.
And I’d give anything not to be a pessimist,
well anything! but a leg and an arm.
For my friends call me the world’s worst pessimist,
but I tell them that “there just being critical.”
And with that they wave their arms in the air saying,
“Well God’s! That’s just bloody god dame typical.”
© Written by Dominic John Gill www.poetry.net.au email@example.com Created on 5/8/00