Dirty Days

March 27, 2009
Within the woods, there lived a boy.
His filth and grim brought him great joy.
His sweat and mud were his best bliss.
His mom asked why he lived liked this.

He looked at her and scratched his head,
And then he stood and proudly said,
“I play in mud. I play with dirt.
But never will I wash my shirt.
I love my filth. It makes me proud.”
He said this in a voice so loud.

Then everything around them shook,
And something moved within a brook.
“There’s something in the water there,”
He spoke these words with deep despair.

Out popped a fish with giant eyes.
Its body rose up to the skies.
“Your dirty days will be no more,
Unless you wish to start a war.
Until you bathe, I’ll follow you.
I hope you know that this is true.”

The boy ran home and washed his knees,
He washed his face, he washed his fleas.
And from that moment he was clean.
His shirt was white- not black or green.
His dirty days were truly done.
His spotless state was much more fun.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback