He was into art,
He loved architecture,
And living the dream.
To him some people were flowers,
Others were weeds,
He loved certain children,
And did very dirty deeds.
He was optimistic,
But he didn't like banks,
Didn't like Russia,
But he was always fond of tanks.
Not known for being shallow,
Rather known for depth,
But his heart was hollow,
And everything he touched... turned to death.
He got his signals crossed.
That's the best you can say,
Or he might have been possessed,
With ALL HELL to pay.
Richard Jarboe's Other Poems
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