Shel Silverstein
My Hobby

When you spit from the twenty-sixth floor,
And it floats on the breeze to the ground,
Does it fall upon hats
Or on white Persian cats
Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?
I used to think life was a bore,
But I don't feel that way anymore,
As I count up the hits,
As I smile as I sit,
As I spit from the twenty-sixth floor.


Co za piekny wywrotowy wiersz!!!
Co wyrosnie z moich dzieci jak bede im czytac takie wiersze na dobranoc?