Spanish Moss And Spider Webs Poem by chris bowen, a.k.a to wit

roses are red

the simple flowers are dead

the infinite fled when the devil spun his web

i lose my head thinking of little girls in my bed

some shed in my summer

what a bummer, not my favorite color on my hummer

cummer, art museum cruising

its annie that im using

bet the set and let the chips fall

i dont clink my chips together when i play poker yall

now you know my calling card

wait till you find out what fell in my yard