Ruined Moon
Melancholy morose moon,
Of which poets can whine;
Ruminate required ruin,
A wilted flower find!
Poetry poses poof
For creeps and geeks to talk.
Languishing loudly lewd.
Oh woe, let’s take a walk!
Ruined Moon
Melancholy morose moon,
Of which poets can whine;
Ruminate required ruin,
A wilted flower find!
Poetry poses poof
For creeps and geeks to talk.
Languishing loudly lewd.
Oh woe, let’s take a walk!
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
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