Conor Young

Rookie (02/06/93 / London)

The Tyger - Poem by Conor Young

Ease it down there Tiger;
How’s about tuning out.
You’re all wound up to bite her;
There’s no reason to shout.

Hold it steady you fighter;
Roaring oh so loud!
Stay your fangs Mr Tiger;
You don’t have to make a sound.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 31, 2010



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