Where the wild things grow,
We all know
How they shift and shake
We watch them pitch and quake.
Where the wild things grow,
We all know
There is a quiet calm
A calm that behests a qualm.
Where the wild things grow,
They just have to know
How to fill the gaps
With such careless happ’s.
Where the wild things grow
They wave, rain or snow,
A constant inconstant, however
Always there, but never forever.
Where the wild things grow,
Their presence overflows
With unending love
As lovers love.
Ms. Steineman's Writing Corner 