Over Three-Hundred And Fifty Poems, That I'Ve Writ, Of My Wit. - Poem by Michael Gale
Over three hundred and fifty poems i've writ...
Hoping to show off to others, my humerous wit.
Perhaps when after i've written my five hundreth poem...
For the morrow', i'll have died and flown to my final resting home.
Will wings be sprouted upon my back? ...
After living a life of ever living strife and attack.
Will my poetry please others long after i've died? ...
Or will my life have been lived a real well told lie after i finally lay to rest and have been sent down on my own stiffened, back-side.
Don't even ask me what i think of old Mr. President Bush...
For right afterwards, i'll tell one and all, that you can kiss my hairy tush!
Well, hell, let's not forget higher gas prices and our own troops
losing their lives...What's to look forward to? , Per-chance husbands losing their wive's.
Mass weapons of distruction were never ever found...Doesn't that line sound like we're headed toward's death and we're fully war bound.
How may we get death and taxes totally off us? ...
Why it's very simple-Kick Bush right out of office.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You