How Is She Filled Out Poem by James McLain
How Is She Filled Out
Such grace,
full at base is oven fired,
her paint so plain,
is beauty stunned.
Yet you think this prom,
isn't about you, when it is.
Your every days, Morrow
always here.
From the middle ground,
is pulled the finest tuna fish,
the world would ever know.
Renumbered, tuna dont spread gossip,
people do, so throw them back.
The tuna are always fretfully peaked, for free shrimp.
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4/23/2024 11:07:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
