They are in a dark abominable place,
Where no grass is growing,
They’re cutting down dead trees and taking them there,
They are the cabinet makers.
They carry steel buckets,
Within them is their lunch,
They never eat anything but gravy sandwiches,
They are the cabinet makers.
If you find your way down that dark alley,
Crowd in through the rushing door,
You’ll see them sanding wood,
For they are the cabinet makers.
The process never ends, no,
For the world loves hand made cabinets,
So they’ll make them till they die, ho!
They are the cabinet makers.
-zu
How did I manage to make such a weird poem about cabinet makers of all things? ๐ Don’t ask me, I’m just a poet!
Follow my daily poem project! Yesterday’s poem:ย No. 207 (I think) โFriends with Pigeonsโ 28/7/16