The Value.

The tiniest little bite of sweet,

A day after you could not get to eat

 

Half an umbrella seems quite a cover,

When the squeaky drizzle becomes a big pour.

 

The weight of the words your friends would say,

After they pack up, and go far away.

 

The size of bed, in which you crawl,

But cannot fit, cause you’re so tall.

 

You want to be old, to be able to drive,

And you wish to be young, just to feel alive.

 

You realize a whisker is quite wide,

When you miss an oncoming vehicle by your side

 

Forty winks might not sound much

An insomniac would say “it’s gold, as such

 

The things that make their presence felt,

When they are gone or they have left.

 

You think of them, they don’t think of you,

And all you see is the color blue.

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