Everything says it’s sorry to me.
If it didn’t, how upset I would be.
I’d pour lava on it if I had gloves,
If it wasn’t sorry after it shoves.
I’d put the sun on it so it could get burnt
And I’d go away to somewhere it weren’t.
If it poked me on the corner then I would kill it,
And I’d cry over milk after it spilled it.
then the milk would trickle west for years………..so I could kiss away the tears.