THE SQUAT TROT

In a tent on an abandoned lot,

I found me a place to squat,

I thought the living would be free,

But it weren't meant to be,

The owners chased me off; made me trot.

HIGH DOME GNOME POEM

Hey, little guy with the big, high dome,

I understand they call you a gnome,

I wish you'd leave and go home,

Instead around my garden, you roam,

I'm so bothered, I set you to poem.