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Book 21 Page 10
The little baby cockroaches seems to have lost there mum
as they scurry around my kitchen in their cute little run.
Anything at all seems to give them a fright,
especially if you uncovered them hiding beneath the pots and pans at night.
And gosh, then they run, risking the fact that they might
finish up under foot; squashed.
Scurrying hither and scurrying thither,
scurrying like a frantic ‘crowd together.’
For life as a cockroach is clearly no fun, - it must be darn right frightening, -
forever escaping on the run run run.
© Written by Dominic John Gill www.poetry.net.au firstname.lastname@example.org Created on 5/4/00