Ribs Poem by Lamar Cole
Ribs
He loved ribs that had a lot of barbecue.
He would lick his fingers when he was through.
He was a big rib fan.
And if someone messed with his ribs.
A fork might stab their hand.
For ribs he might be called needy.
But he was just a pig so greedy.
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: people
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8/3/2025 2:04:04 PM # 1.0.0
