Daughter Law Poem by chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

Daughter Law



the tempest of the truest form of losing lawn to the devil.the infinite weather.the call to arms, she do harm.the book is like i look.think.do i drink from poison pen? make a men unhappy? give me the cap, b, and see what worlds turn when shoulders burn.i would stick by what i said about obama, his teachings and his mama.feel the farmer?

Thursday, July 10, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: weather
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chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

fernanadina a.k.a ghost town
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