The Bird Poem by Richard Webb
The Bird
A cunning little creature
It flies through the sky on wings of leather
With lungs on fire
It will burn you to a crisp
But do not be scared of the beast, this super bird
For if one you should so meet
You may greet him as you were the English Saint
He would bow down at your feet
But don't tell anyone you met
Because
They don't exist
Sunday, March 2, 2014
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4/26/2024 2:19:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
