Atop that hill

Just down the road,

I saw a man

Who looked quite old.

 

His hair was grey

And his posture bent,

His nose had flared

To pick up my scent.

 

As I walked by

I couldn't help but stare,

At his blurry eyes

That had begun to glare.

 

Beneath his feet

The grass was yellow,

Starved of light

By his big shadow.

 

Long and dull

Was his face,

Odd and disfigured

Out of place.

 

He seemed so strange

All alone on that hill,

Maybe he just needed a friend

Or maybe he wanted to kill.

 

A group of people

Stand in a line,

To form a queue

So straight and fine.

 

They stand and wait

For one to leave,

Until one bye one

It does decrease.

 

A queue

Does not have a length,

It starts with one

And grows with strength.

 

People join

And people leave,

One by one

Such a strange scene.

 

Clickity-Click

Skippity-Skip

 

The children play

While the parents kip.

 

Clinkity-Clink

Chinkity-Chink

 

The money is counted

While the owners think.

 

Hippity-Hip

Hoppity-Hop

 

The girls do dance

While bubbles Pop.

 

Like a rhythmic response

It echoes through your head,

The art of tapping captures you

Just like a spiders' web.

 

Once you have your dancing shoes

It's time to hit the floor,

And once you begin to find your rhythm

You'll want to learn more.

 

The spider spinning deeper

With all the different steps,

Just feels so magical

When you're caught up in the threads.

 

If you saw a woman

Dressed all in red,

How would you describe her?

Would you start from the head?

 

As a ripened strawberry

Or a plump tomato

How would you describer her?

Would you start from the toe?