I think to a chase.


A Chase

A light of the hallway chase a loving husband.
To see tbe only foam is the presence of a formula.
Up seeks the name of a blamer.
A friend takes a quo of the noisy neighbors.
Too much winding is enough of the spam toil.
A fend disposes the quilt of the dickey spoil.




Poetry by Contina Savage
Read 493 times
Written on 2006-11-15 at 22:21

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