Four is the number for me.

I think of it every time I sneeze.

It’s One to breath in, Two to breath out

Three to wipe a messy snout

And four is when somebody blesses me!

4 is a number with points

No round bits at all to soften its joints

Just straight pointy edges to it

And the at the bottom a cool crossing bit

As sharpest number, 4, I’ll anoint.

Four makes a cool shape in my tongue

Like a tune waiting to be sung

It rests after three

And in a countdown you’re always ready

After four for the final bell to be rung

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Well, the whole point of this poem, which came to me randomly last night, is to count up. The first chapter is "one," the second, "two," and so on. Other than that, because this poem is just for fun, you can simply go wild!

updated Jul 21 by Fluffycrow