FLYING flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down his
shovel, and writes, writes, and
writes,
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me muddled spirits,
and write the words with your
own red blood,
FLYING flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up, with her freind
plath, and they both begine to
write, write, and write, yippee,
says the words, for these words
will end up in a paper back book.
WHATTA DAY FOR WRITIN' & SINGIN' THEM 60'S CHARTBUSTERS! THEN AGAIN, I CAN'T SING A LICK ANYMORE....& LATELY WRITERS BLOCK HAS GIVEN ME THE KNOCK....S * * *, A * * * * ING RHYME....Wooooooosh! nice write! ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''fjr
WHATTA DAY FOR WRITIN' & SINGIN' THEM 60'S CHARTBUSTERS! THEN AGAIN, I CAN'T SING A LICK ANYMORE....& LATELY WRITERS BLOCK HAS GIVEN ME THE KNOCK....S * * *, A * * * * ING RHYME....Wooooooosh! nice write! ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''fjr
paper back writerrrrrrrrrrr, paper back writerrrrrrrrrr, yippeeeeeeee good write david i enjoyed this one, worth a vote so vote i vote for your poemmmmm AJS
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi David, Very different, I like this poem, It's unique but your writing positive. Excellent write.