French Frys…..

A little bowls of french frys……
There he sits
With his frys
As I
Contently, stare
Into his eyes.

I swipe a fry.
He does not know
Where I sit
Or where
I go.

We all have our niche.
Maybe, we have discovered a ditch!
Or maybe, on a broom, we have seen

Or prehaps
Those are my thoughts
Are my thoughts
My thoughts
I think.

I am putting to bed,
The thoughts in my head.
As they will keep
As I slumber
To sleep.

As I walk through this forest
All alone.

Maria Tuttle
A gigantic bag of french frys!

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