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Saturday, March 06, 2004

Here is a poem I made up in the shower this morning. Too much information, perhaps, but it is my only excuse for the quality, or rather lack of it. No title yet, so if you deem that it is good enough for one then feel free to suggest one, if not I will have to leave it titleless, which would really irk my high school english teachers, but hey, since when did I ever do anything right by them anyways?

Blither, Blather,
Pitter, Patter,
Up the stairs she goes,

Up to the room,
Up with the broom,
To clean up the cloves and lizards toes,

Left from the stew,
Now cold witch's brew,
To what effect nobody knows,

It matters little,
Which slime and spittle,
She uses to smite her foes,

For tonight she depart,
From hope quite apart,
To whence the west wind fair blows.

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