The Prize

Image courtesy of Pixels

It was going to be random

No one knew just when

The day it would appear

The excitement would begin

To ignite in us daily

Especially weekday morns

The rattling and shaking

Each one of us were torn


Between having one or two

To ensure we’d be closer

The goal was the end

For the fortunate holder


Of the subject matter at hand

For daily we would reach

Seeking further for the prize

We couldn’t split between each

And every one of us

There could only be but one

Finder of the prize in the box

When the cereal was done

Thank you for reading and following

dorothy’s page © 2022 D. E. Young


4 thoughts on “The Prize

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