I'm not good with poems, but hopefully I get a good grade on this: I remember when I would open my lunch, And I would see my food. With a Napkin. Why did those days stop? I remember when I wiped my mouth, With the napkin my mother put in my lunchbox. No longer do I see napkins in my lunch. Why? I remember when my mom gave me a fork and a spoon. I would always be so happy. I didn’t have to eat greasy chicken with my hands. Did you hide the forks and spoons? I remember when my lunch was full of napkins and silverware. I took these things for granted. Now look at me, sad as a pickle. Why must I be this way? I was kind of being silly, but poems don't have to be soo full of emotion, do they?
