A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
There is a man
Who owns a car.
A jeep, really.
The kind with the top you can remove.
The kind you can feel the wind in.
I have never seen this man,
But I have seen his car.
And when I see it,
I always know its his.
In this jeep of his,
when the sun is bright,
and the heat bears down,
sits a tiger.
A big,
friendly,
fluffy,
Tiger.
Among other things.
But always the tiger.
He waves at me as I watch the jeep pass,
this friendly tiger
bringing a smile to my face.
And even though I don’t know this tiger’s man,
I feel like I do.
Words Worth While 