A Weighty Issue

The dust coats my fingers
And a smear stains my lips
The scent of disgust lingers

As well as the pounds on my hips.

Little Ginge x



We made a home in your hall
Found your garth quite comfortable for the week
She was a beauty even when in tears
When she had more grief than Van Gogh
We took a tour of her hidden features
Watched her children play with wonder and delight
That I cannot summon up in any city
But when she smiles and the clouds roll over
Bringing out the dimples in her undulating curves
You know she’s a Northern lass for sure;
Broad and inviting with a soul so pure

With which the South cannot compete.

Little Ginge x


The boy who could never make a move
And the girl who never got to be told
Weren’t the heroes of a love story;

The woman who never spoke up
And the man who let it slide by
Did not start a revolution;

The guy who put down the paintbrush
And the gal that never finished the book
Failed to change the world;

The child who died in flames
And the adult that grieved in vain

Only ever lived in regret.

Little Ginge x