A Bit of Truthiness
What’s the truth about myself?
I am not a dusty shelf,
Where the cups and saucers sit,
And the crickets never quit
Making noises all the night,
Thinking that they bring delight.
Nor am I a blast of air
Roaring here and roaring there,
Knocking wigs off women’s heads,
Ripping oak leaves into shreds.
Here’s the truth, if truth be told:
Older than the stones, I’m old!
Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Truth”