In pages of a book, I seek
The tales of green reeds that speak
Of their vibrant hues and graceful sway
A world of wonder, in which to play
But as I turn the final page
A curious thought begins to engage
Will these emerald reeds still hold their sheen
Or will they turn a shade unseen?
Next, I’ll read of good deeds so fine
And ponder if they’ll still shine
Once they’re done, once they’re complete
Or if they’ll fade, incomplete.
For once I read about green reeds, the book is read.
Does it not make sense that the reeds become red?
Once I read about good deeds, the book is read,
so are the deeds dead, or would it be ded?
Then comes the book of healthy food
That nourishes and does us good
But once consumed, does it not shift
From food to fed, and start to drift?
For if I read a book about healthy food that feeds,
after the food is eaten, on the food I’m fed.
Just as after I read the book, the book is read.
It only makes sense that deeds once done are ded.