POEM

Where are my glasses? where, oh where?
On the table, or under the chair?
Near the window, or near the door?
In my pocket, or on the floor?
I´m looking here!
I´m looking there!
Where are my glasses? where, oh where?

Oh, here they are! on my head!

(By: Michael West)

RHYME

I´m long and thin and made of steel,
I cut the mutton, beef and veal;
When not in use I lie and wait Beside
my owner´s round white plate