A poet does not know depression
Only but cries when he sees a flower
You do not tell a hunchback to stoop,
That would be lowly,
Or my grandma, she will smack you
And if you hear one cry
“I am lost for words! ”
Quick! Run,
Greatest you are if you find them
And make ‘em your own.
© lak’wab asis 2010
All rights Reserved
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