Words Poem by tim woodhouse
Words
What are these things called words?
Noises with our lips, teeth, tongues and throats
That have the power to sound refined, absurd,
To wound, to scar, to help us sink or float
Or rise and soar, reaching heights sublime -
I'd learn them, but I'm running out of time.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: Words
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5/9/2024 8:48:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
