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January 18, 2018, 12:22:22 AM

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: Poem  ( 27 )
Bob Reiber
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« : January 07, 2018, 11:41:44 AM »

A poem from Mal ..  good one !

The Man With The Little Black Box

I married a guy with his mind in the sky
And a heart full of wonderful plans.
But now I am told that these plans are controlled 
by the little black box in his hands

He belongs to a group, a most curious troup,
Whose principal purpose, it seems,
Is to gather a crowd, and then gaze at a cloud
While clutching a box full of dreams

They work night and day, but to them it is play;
They would rather fly airplanes than eat
The weather won’t stay them, winds merely delay them, 
For their stuff is too stern for defeat.

The planes that they pilot are prone to run riot,
If it crashes they don’t seem to care,
With some balsa and glue, and a gadget or two,
They soon have it back in the air

Some planes have been known to take off on their own,
Sending pilots in hot hurried chase.
It’s a school of hard knocks, but they don’t blame the box, 
And the wreck is brought home in disgrace.

But I’ll stick by the man with the box in his hand,
Though it may put grey hairs on my head.
I will not complain; if it weren’t for that plane
He’d probably chase women instead.
 
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