Member Poem

Fog on the window

The dew sits on the grass like a bluebird in a tree
The one that sings when the night begins to flee
The streets are quiet and nothings amiss
The house is showered in sheer good bliss

But inside the house, the kids are through
For what will they do when rent is due
Father is gone and mother is sick
But on the outside the kids can trick

Because the house gleams of the perfect ruse
But when money is the subject no one can refuse
The fact that everything is not what it seems
And that life isn't perfect, you just have to tear the seams.