Thursday, January 14, 2016

Rhyme Scheme Poem

Frozen Puddle                                             
By Max Maclay

Crystal planes across the ground
Where dirty puddles once were found.
How it happened, I don’t know,
But I investigate, with my toe.

A tiny sound, hairline crack,
Leads to an all-out attack.
Now I’m cold, full of regret

Because my foot is sopping wet.


Silly and Libelous Limerick
There was a curly-haired lass from Maine
Whose language was very profane
The kids rang a bell
Every time she said, “Hell,”
Or other words in that domain