The Wishing Chair

I sat on an old wishing chair
A whining, rickety one at that
I said, “To Paris, away with flair
But it stood there looking like a doormat
” Fly”, I said, “or i’ll thrash you without care”
“I must see Notre Dame and the city of art”
But the chair shook me off, I almost fell by my hair
Then I threatened to pull it piece by piece apart
” No, you won’t”, it said, “you see I have no pair”
“Get off, I prefer kids, not adults so fat”
I screamed and tore at my thick black hair
Jumping and snarling like an angry cat
I woke up sweating on my bed soft and dear
The old wishing chair faded like ghosts of past

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