The Patient-Patient

                                  

While visiting my doctor’s office, I wondered,

How long will I possibly have to wait?

Watching people enter and exit through doors,

My doctor, I slowly began to hate.

For hours I’ve been awaiting his call,

And now the crowd around me has thinned,

I’m growing nervous and upset and anxious,

Because now I feel worse than when I first came in.

Usually I arrive early, so my visit won’t be prolonged,

Between chitting and chatting the time passes fast,

But that doctor hasn’t called me yet.

My stomach is beginning to growl, I hope it doesn’t last.

Quickly I respond when my name is called,

You should’ve seen the smile on my face,

I told my doctor how patient I’d been,

But I just couldn’t wait to get out of that place.

My Insane Uncle

                          

Twas night when all was still,

Appeared an old man who looked quite ill,

His eyes were dull, his face smoky gray,

His anguished look, I began to pray.

Why is he so high in the air?

He looks as though he doesn’t give a care,

Oh! It’s my old uncle on the windowsill,

My old uncle! Uncle Bill.

The frightful look that he gave me,

Made me want to climb a tree,

As I climbed, he began to gain

I think that maybe he was insane.

The Life of a Mosquito

Flying low and seeking prey is a total must,

We love to hum a buzz around,

To watch the humans swat at us,

While ducking for the ground.

Late at night when all have dozed quietly off to sleep,

We buzz and hum near the ear of some poor man in bed,

He begins to stir and fan the air, and then anger builds,

His sleep won’t keep,

With ears alert, he listens while we bite him on the head.

Hiding on the ceiling in a corner near the victim’s bed,

We wait until he settles down before we make our move,

He motions to flick on the lights and not go to bed instead,

And so we wait and catch our breath in our silent little groove.

Oh! The life of a mosquito is often gratifying,

When the nourishment is so easily obtained,

Oh! The life of a mosquito is often satisfying,

Seeking victims and knowing that we can cause them pain.

If My Dog Could Talk

If my dog could talk, what would he say?
Would he bid me farewell, as I leave for the day?
Would he say, "thank you", when I give him a bone?
Or cry when I'm too busy to play and when I leave him alone.
Will he run and meet me, and lick my face?
Then ask me to pet his head, while standing patiently in place.

Will he go fetch his ball and ask me to play?
And ask with a bark, "master, how was your day?"
Will he say how much he misses me? When I'm not around,
Then show me the spot where he buried his bone in the ground.

Oh! How wonderful if my dog could express how he feels,
Then we'd know when he's sick, we'd know when he's ill.
We could tell him that we love him; He would love to hear that,
Then we could hear our dog's reply, barking loudly, "I LOVE YOU BACK."