Three PM Saturday
Praise those salicylates for the way they ease the pain in an old
Relic's nearly useless motorcycle wrists. Praise the cooling breeze
Which sweeps the shady spots beneath the trees, whose branches
In it gently sway and put a mind at ease. Praise the frigid beer at
Hand when one has done enough to stop, and seek relief from
His wrists' pain and shelter from the sun.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2024-09-28 at 22:31
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Ingvar Loco Nordin |
Griffonner |