Stilt - Poem by Alec Witthohn
Don't stop the eagle now.
When it comes holding thumbs
Rearing a brow in the evening.
Watch down at your feet,
And keep to the road.
Tasting alabaster on your tongue.
How do you like the grit of that?
Thumbing the lint of linens;
I hope you do.
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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
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You