Fat little period, round as a ball,
You’d think it would roll,
But it doesn’t
All all.
Where it stops,
There it plops,
There it stubbornly
stays,
At the end of a
sentence
For days and days.
“Get out of my way!”
Cries the
sentence.” “Beware!”
But the period seems
not to hear or care.
Like a stone in the
road,
It won’t budge, it
won’t bend.
If it spoke, it would say to the
sentence, “The end.”
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