Oh Scissors!

I knew a young man so conceited
That a glance at his face made you heated.
One night, playing whist,
He was slapped on the wrist,
Because some one said that he cheated.

Edwin C. Ranck The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets. Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.