Poem: C


The letter c,

What do you be,

Are you part of some tree?

Do you make me think I am a flea?

I do not see,

Where to be,

With the C,

For someone like me.

You give us vitamins,

Solar and sun,

You give us a lot of words,

That we use for fun.

Oh, Mister C,

You will never pull,

A gun,

On me.

Mr. C,

Mr. C,

You’re a letter we can trust,

You will never find me with your crossbow,

Or knife full of rust.

I trust you,

The letter,

So plump in oranges.

So ripe in the world,

So early in the alphabet.

So all-consuming in your grandeur.

Special thanks to: Melissa Potter

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