It was an old chap, with an old little stick,
Big white moustache, a coat-the colour brick.
He walked alone, near the ocean blue,
Back bent, quivering hands, a ripped up old shoe.
...
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The girl stopped waiting and went back inside, To write with her crayons the words wide, ' Be my friend ' so she could put it in a bottle and wait, For that person, she silently hoped wouldn't be late. what a sweet stanza is this one and the whole poem is done in a very sweet way..love your style of making poems and it make me think and inspiring of course too... hope you your sweet words will never stop as mine too... your comments and going to add to my new book and book will be soon in your hand... best of luck goood poetess and sweet friend...10+++++++++
WOW....this is an excellent poem.. i liked everything about it. the rhymes, the imagery(one could really see the old man u described so well) . WOW..excellent poem...this ones going straight to my poems list... ;)
beautiful one.. nothin more to express.10+