What it is I shall become
They are things infused in me
By my daddy, and my mum
They joined together in their bed
To make a little me
It's not their fault how could they tell
What I'd grow up to be
Perhaps it's God, His holy hand
That makes me what I am
Perhaps it's what's within my head
That makes my life a sham
But then there's this scientist
Who says he's found the means
That the root of all my problems
Is right here in my jeans
Does he mean my denims
Or perhaps my cotton twill
How can I believe
That they're the root of all my ill
And ever more expensive
As prices rise, and rise
And ever harder it becomes
To get them in my size
No they say, I'm very wrong
To say it's in my jeans
The scientist will put me right
Coz what he said was genes
An easy slip to make
But means something quite different
They say, for heaven's sake
So they who take up issues green
Would be quite horrified
To find that I've already been
GENETICALLY MODIFIED
The next poem in my site is about something that is precious, that we all have too little of...................................................................................................time.
Why does it drag so
When we don't want it to
Yet time will fly right past
When e'er we do
Hours that are passing, and that
Take us through our time
That lead us all the way
Through our lives
And as time passes us, and as
Older do we grow
Wiser I have to ask
Do we become?
Until the time it comes
When we have time no more
And do we all have to come
To the end of our
���������������������������� � TIME.
