My Hopes Are Dashed and Scattered
My hopes are dashed and scattered,
There’s no more grace to spare,
For flyaway potatoes
Have landed everywhere!
They’ve landed on my shoulders,
They’ve landed on my knee,
They’ve landed in the ocean,
They’ve landed in the sea.
Some folks would call it bounty,
But I call it bad luck
To live in Tater County
And drive a tater truck.
Perhaps I should be grateful
For taters, lanes, and such,
But after three bad crashes,
I am not grateful much.
More The Whirligig #266
More Writers’ Pantry #20 at Poets and Storytellers United
Posted on May 17, 2020, in light verse, Poets & Storytellers United, Rhyming poetry, The Whirligig and tagged bounty, dashed, flyaway, grace, grateful, lanes, perhaps, potatoes, scatter, shoulder, three, truck. Bookmark the permalink. 26 Comments.