Anonymous Olde English
The Bookworm - Poem by Anonymous Olde English
A moth, I thought, munching a word.
How marvellously weird! a worm
Digesting a man's sayings --
A sneakthief nibbling in the shadows
At the shape of a poet's thunderous phrases --
How unutterably strange!
And the pilfering parasite none the wiser
For the words he has swallowed.
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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