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Written by joseph bejcek poewhit   
Tuesday, 12 September 2006

The web site has no crash.

Poetry is the last.

Flights of fancy into the night.

Others it gives a startled fright.

The heart and soul come forth.

It's all part of the broth.

Smell the aroma down the hall.

Call-Call-its poetry tall.

Songs are only second best.

Poetry is class with tests.

Never come down from that cloud.

Some poems speak loud.

Last Updated ( Thursday, 28 September 2006 )
 
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