Pokemon
Fight,fight,fight!
Fight with all your might.
Go,go,go!
This is how we roll.
Good bye,good bye,good bye!
Im gonna use Fly.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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