Meagon Poem by chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

Meagon



little john, beggin son, dont do it, dont go through it, marry it your the supreme kid, this my lid flipped for serious purpose.we deserve this? that is my retort to god, your report? dont let air in, they grin and make gin on the chin.lovers win and send some, be gun.

Friday, October 12, 2007
Topic(s) of this poem: son
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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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