By Stan Morris
I don’t pretend I know a lot,
about the world in which you slide.
It’s hard to speak to people, you know
I’d rather go spacing and hide.
But I see it makes you happy,
to hang out with a group.
And I know you never mind,
when the group becomes a troop.
So I stay by your side and wait to see
if your eyes will turn to me.
I really thought it was a cute poem.