Here's a poem I can't think of a title for. Does anyone have any ideas?
His feet are blistered, and soar and dead.
They are covered with bumps and bruises.
His feet are ugly, deformed,
And they smell awfuly grotesque.
And you are appaled by the stentch.
And you look away from the sight.
But how did this man get such terrible feet
That pain him when he walks?
He got them from walking for miles and miles
All through his life
Searching for answers for the questions
he already had.
For the only question he wanted to know
Was, "Where do you go when you're dead?"
This man walked for miles and miles
And now his feet are deformed and dead
But his only question, this only one question....
is still alive in his head.